


Misc. Tape

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill, Trope Mashups, Tropes, Tumblr Prompt, first sentence meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 27,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: A random assortment of Tumblr prompts.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 216
Kudos: 239





	1. Florist AU + Accidentally Married

**Author's Note:**

> I've been doing a bunch of prompts on Tumblr of late, so I figured I should probably collect them all on AO3 since I can never find anything on Tumblr after I post it. 😂
> 
> Be forewarned, this really is a hodgepodge, and some of these are quite silly. But I did very much enjoy writing them. ❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Arlome: Florist AU + Accidentally Married

It starts with their mothers, of course. Mrs. Williams wants to go with _Flowers by Phryne_ for the wedding because it’s hip and chic and has been written up in all the wedding magazines. Mrs. Collins wants to go with _Robins & Son_ because they’re salt of the earth people and, quote, “a Richmond institution, Hugh!”

Through a series of completely preventable misunderstandings, both florists are hired for the wedding.

Phryne and Jack know each other, of course, through their work. They fight and flirt over flora and fernery - they’re basically the Sam and Diane of the Greater Melbourne florist circuit.

As the big day gets closer, so do the florists with their respective clients, and each other. And when everything with the feuding families reaches a head at the rehearsal dinner, Phryne and Jack wind up talking down an overwhelmed Dot and Hugh, taking them for drinks at a little hole in the wall bar with a hell of a weekday special.

Which is how all four of them find themselves in a 24 hour chapel, far too late and far too drunk to be making important life decisions.

Phryne and Jack annul the marriage soon after.

They merge their flower shops though.

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[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	2. Locked in a Room + Accidentally Saving the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anonymous: For Jack & Hugh, Locked in a Room + Accidentally Saving the Day

Hugh tried the extremely heavy, extremely locked door one more time, thinking maybe the eleventh time was the charm.

It wasn’t.

Several feet away, the Inspector examined the walls as best he could for any sign of a second egress, but their only light source in the pitch black room was the book of matches he’d happened to have on him, so it was slow going. 

Hugh coughed.

“Sir, I know I said this before…”

“Collins…”

“And I know you told me to stop saying it….”

“Really, Collins…”

“But I really am very sorry, sir! I didn’t realize you’d propped the door open for a reason.”

The Inspector paused. “Do I often do things for not a reason?”

“No, sir! Er, yes, sir? I… didn’t entirely understand the question. But the point remains that I am really, _really_ sorry.”

“Collins, it’s fine. It was an accident. And I think our collective energies are best spent looking for a way out of this room, and then off this island.”

“Maybe the ladies are having more luck,” Hugh suggested.

“I certainly hope they are, seeing as how our suspects took off with our only boat and we have neither food nor shelter to speak of — OW!”

“Sir, are you alright??”

“Yes, I just hit something with my shoulder.” 

Hugh made his way over to where the Inspector was standing.

“Feels like a lever, sir. Maybe it’s a light!” 

Hugh grabbed the heavy bar and flipped it up, but nothing happened. A moment later, Jack flipped it back down.

“No point turning something on if we don’t know what it does, Collins.”

“Maybe it just needs time to warm up.” Hugh flipped it back up.

“Or maybe it’s dangerous.” Jack flipped it back down.

“Maybe it’s the lock release.” Up.

“Or the vent release.” Down.

“We won’t…” Up. “…know…” Down. “…unless we leave it.” Up.

“We won’t…” Down. “…know…” Up. “…anything if we’re dead..” Down.

After several more minutes of this back and forth, Hugh gave up with a sigh and walked back over towards where he thought the door was, trying for lucky number twelve.

“Miss Fisher would have left it up,” he muttered.

“Well then, next time I suggest you lock _her_ in a small enclosed space,” the Inspector replied dryly.

Hugh was just about to suggest something the Inspector could do when the door swung open.

“Miss Fisher!” Hugh shouted in relief.

“Hello boys,” Phryne greeted. “Or should I say, heroes.”

“Sorry?” Hugh asked, stepping out of the room and back into the mysterious building’s stairwell.

“The lighthouse! You found the power source to the beam! And here we all thought it was broken. Clever thinking too, switching it on and off — Dot and I are certain it’s the only reason that passing ship saw us. They’re almost here, too, so follow me and prepare to kiss this dreary island goodbye.”

And then she was gone, leaving Jack and Hugh alone in the small corridor in what was apparently the lighthouse generator.

Hugh coughed. 

“Sir, do you think we should…”

“Not one word, Collins. What happens in the lighthouse generator stays in the lighthouse generator. ”

Hugh nodded.

That, at least, they could agree on.

\---------------------

[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	3. Accidental Eavesdropping + Aroused By Her Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from whopooh: Accidental Eavesdropping + Aroused By Her Voice

The trouble with an undercover job is that one was expected to be both good at the undercover part and at the actual _job_. Which is why Jack found himself writing up short human interest pieces at 3JH tonight instead of doing real police work. It was a waste of his time. Plus, the walls were ridiculously thin once you got out of the recording studio, so he could hear every word of Clarence and Hazel rehearsing _At Home With The Polkinghorns_ next door, which wouldn’t be so bad except the show was so boring it threatened to put him to sleep.

Jack looked at his watch - he really needed to leave in the next few minutes if he was going to be on time for his meeting with the Commissioner. Best finish up quickly then.

The door in the adjoining room opened, and for a moment Jack had half a hope they were finished rehearsing. But no, Hazel was just greeting someone new.

“Thank you again for joining us, Miss Fisher. We just have a few lines to run tonight if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Is this for Guinevere’s escape scene tomorrow?”

“Yes. Here are the pages. You swoon at first, but then find your courage, grab a sword, and force the guards back. Once they retreat, you celebrate your victory and then make your escape. Clarence will add the sound effects tomorrow and give you volume cues tonight. Any questions?”

“No, I think I have it. Just… I’m afraid I don’t have much experience ‘swooning’.”

“That’s fine. Perhaps draw on something similar you’re more familiar with?”

"That I can do. Shall I just begin then?”

There was a rustle of papers and then suddenly her low tones and breathy sighs reverberated through the walls.

“Oh. Oh oh…”

Jack sat up straight. Oh. Oh no.

“Perfect!” Clarence speaking now. “Alright, now pretend you’ve grabbed a sword, Miss Fisher, and are swinging it for your life. Lots of heavy breathing and moans. Make us believe in the exertion. Go!”

“Ah. Ah. Ahhhhh. Oh. Oh. Back! Oh, back!”

“Now make them retreat!”

“Back, back, oh oh oh, back!”

“Perfect, Miss Fisher. Now really sell it!”

“Back! Back! Back! Yes, yes, yeeeeeeessss!”

One last sigh.

Then silence.

Dully, Jack registered Clarence and Hazel thanking Phryne for her time, but his ears were pounding so hard now, he didn’t hear it all.

He tried to catch his breath, and then he tried to stand.

Oh.

Oh dammit all.

He sighed and sat back down, resigned to spending a few more minutes behind the helpful concealment of the desk.

He was going to be late for his meeting with the Commissioner after all.

\---------------------

[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	4. Bodyguard AU + Teacher AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from TorieGirl: Bodyguard AU + Teacher AU

Professor Jack Robinson absolutely, positively doesn’t need a bodyguard. At least, that’s what he keeps telling the Dean of his university. But he’s also been receiving death threats from an unknown source, and as one of the university’s most distinguished educators (he’s successfully argued three cases before the Supreme Court among other notable accomplishments), they are keen to protect him.

The Dean hires a personal security firm, who send over their best agent, the deceptively unassuming Phryne Fisher.

Things do not start off well. Phryne shows up unannounced while Jack is eating dinner at home. He is prickly and she is irritated by his attitude.

“I don’t need a gunman for hire.”

“I don’t carry a gun and we prefer Executive Protection.”

“And I prefer to eat alone. I appreciate your curiosity for criminal law, Miss Fisher, but I’m fine. I have a guard dog and an alarm system. Thank you and goodnight.”

Two minutes later she easily sneaks past his guard dog — a Golden Retriever named Hugh who is the canine equivalent of a cinnamon roll — to find a chalk outline of a dead body in his upstairs lavatory.

Jack sighs, pats Hugh on the head, and nods at Phryne. “You’re hired.”

Jack doesn’t want to call attention to the threats, so Phyrne poses as a grad student in his law classes. Soon, though, she begins secretly investigating the case on her own in addition to protecting the handsome professor, who it turns out is not nearly as dour as she first assumed.

They start to spend all their time together, even when she’s technically off duty. They argue and flirt and _enjoy_ each other in a way neither was expecting and, eventually, their evening nightcaps over chess lead to early morning coffees in bed.

She’s also acing his classes.

Their relationship is difficult, however, due to all the secrecy. She’s not supposed to become involved with her clients and he would never date a student (even if she’s only pretending to be one, no one else knows that). Finally, it gets to be too much and they agree to end their romantic involvement for the sake of their professional standards.

They hate it.

Months later, when an actual attempt is made on Jack’s life via a poisoned blade in one of his law books, Phryne catches her first real break in the case. She follows the clues and catches up with the would-be-killer at the university’s rowing club. Taking him down with a well placed oar, she delivers him to the police, then returns to Jack’s place where he promptly fires her, then asks her to move in.

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[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	5. Secret Relationship + Accidental Eavesdropping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Fire_Sign: Secret Relationship + Accidental Eavesdropping

There is, strictly speaking, no official rule against it. Still, Phryne and Jack decide to keep their relationship a secret from the rest of the department for now; she’s an Inspector and he’s a Detective Senior Sergeant and they don’t need anyone throwing around fictitious accusations of preferential treatment. Plus they’ve spent years cultivating this team of theirs and there’s no point upsetting the apple cart for something so new anyway.

(It’s not really new, of course, this thing between them. The only thing new was one of them being brave enough to name it.)

And it’s going well. Very well. They’re successfully balancing being Inspector Fisher and Detective Sergeant Robinson at work and Phryne and Jack at home (and sometimes Inspector Fisher at home too, but that’s between Jack and his competence kink). Until one night there’s a hostage situation, and it’s bad. Very bad. The odds aren’t in their favor to begin with and then it gets worse. Options must be weighed and Phryne suddenly has to make a difficult call, and it’s the right call, but it almost costs Jack his life all the same.

Once the situation is well in hand, and all the hostages are safe, she drives herself back to the station alone.

It is very, very late by the time he finds her.

“There you are,” he says, taking a seat across the table from her. The sound of his chair scraping against the floor feels abnormally loud tonight; the room is dim and the station is quiet and they are alone for the first time since before everything had gone to hell.

“Here I am,” she agrees, staring at a piece of paper in front of her.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Transfer orders.”

“Whose?”

“Yours. Mine. I haven’t decided yet.” She looks up for the first time and her eyes dart to the bandage on his arm where the bullet merely grazed him. They both know it could have been much, much worse; Phryne doesn’t take the same comfort in that fact that Jack does.

He notices the look, but does not comment. “Any special reason you’re breaking up the band?” he asks instead. “The band we spent years assembling, by the way.”

She sighs, and it is a sad, quiet sound that goes straight to his heart. “I could have lost you tonight Jack.” She huffs out a humourless laugh. “No, not lost, that implies an element of chance. I could have made the _choice_ to sacrifice you tonight.”

“I see.” He is quiet for a moment. “Do you think it was the wrong call?”

“No.” Her voice is soft, but steady.

He nods. “Neither do I.”

“But it still hurt to make, Jack. And what if tomorrow I make a different call? The _wrong_ call, just because it’s you.”

Another moment of silence as he tilts his head a bit in thought. “Do you fall in love with me more each day?”

She eyes him suspiciously, suspecting her own words are about to be used against her. But she is always honest, and so she answers him honestly anyway. “Yes.”

“Do you become a better cop with every day on the job?”

“Yes.”

“Then the ratio stays the same. I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either.”

She smiles, small but real. “My logical Jack.”

He reaches across the table and takes her hand. “None of us are civilians, Phry. We all signed up for this and we don’t need your protection. We need your good judgment and your leadership and your ability to make the right choices even when they’re hard. We need you. Because we trust you. I trust you, Phryne. With my work and my heart and my life. I trust you.”

She squeezes his hand. “I trust you too. More than anything.”

“Good. Then rip up that ridiculous transfer order and come home with me. I’ll make you omelets in the morning.”

“With tomatoes?”

“With whatever you want.” He stands and leans over the table, kissing her softly.

She reluctantly breaks away as she stands as well, crumpling up the orders and tossing them in the recycling basket. She holds his hand and they leave the interrogation room. Together.

As they do, they fail to notice the small figure who is standing on the other side of the two-way glass, holding the tea cup she’d accidentally left there earlier, a look of total surprise on her face.

Dorothy Williams, civilian administrator, watches them leave hand in hand and the surprise on her face turns to delight.

She waits for a few minutes to be sure they are gone before leaving herself, no plans whatsoever to tell anyone else about what she’s overheard. If they want to keep their relationship to themselves for now, that’s their business.

And besides, this team of hers spent _years_ getting those two together.

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[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	6. The Big Damn Kiss + Anger Born of Worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anonymous: The Big Damn Kiss + Anger Born of Worry

She tells him not to take the assignment.

It’s too far, too long, too troublesome.

(She very deliberately does not say too dangerous.)

He argues that he can’t pick and choose his cases like her. She rolls her eyes.

He leaves without finishing his drink.

And then he leaves without saying goodbye.

He’s gone for days, then a week, then two, then more. She doesn’t know where, except the vague direction of “north,” which only includes all of bloody Australia.

Hugh doesn’t know anything, but that doesn’t stop her from interrogating him.

One day, about a month into the Inspector’s absence, she sees some important looking men leave City South looking grim, and Phryne isn’t a worrier by nature, but now… now she is worried.

She camps out at Russell Street until she gets answers, scant though they are. She at least gets a location, his alias, and tacit approval to involve herself if she can find him.

She can’t.

When she arrives - bloody north - all she finds initially are smug looking gangsters and whispers of an outsider who got in too deep and paid the price.

Phryne isn’t a worrier by nature, but now she is scared.

She hides it well, though, and doesn’t give up hope. Asks the right questions, greases the right palms, waits for him to get her coded messages and find her.

And finally, he does.

He’s disheveled and unkempt with a black eye and other visible injuries she quickly categories with the trained eye of a former ambulance driver.

(She very deliberately doesn’t think about the ones that aren’t visible.)

She rises, intending to make a joke about him being late but as she moves closer it’s like a switch flips in her and suddenly she is _angry_. Angrier than she can remember being in a very long time. It lights a flame in her and she practically seethes. She moves to leave the tiny hotel room, unable to look at him a moment longer without saying something she will regret or giving him a second shiner to match the first, but before she can reach the door he grabs her arm, gentle but firm, and stops her.

“I’m sorry.”

She wants to tell him she doesn’t accept his sorries, wants to tell him to save them for someone who cares. She wants to tell him to go to hell.

She kisses him instead.

It is a kiss like a wave on the sea — powerful and disorienting and raw. And then… and then it crashes upon the shore and the wave returns to the ocean and it is just… perfect and effortless and unending.

(It does end of course, they both need to breathe.)

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, close enough she can feel the movement of his lips against her own.

“Don’t be remorseful,” she tells him. “It only confuses me.”

She kisses him again.

He doesn’t leave.

And in the morning, they both say hello.

\---------------------

[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	7. Not a Date + In Vino Veritas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from whopooh: Not a Date + In Vino Veritas

Every year the Melbourne Police Department holds a city-wide competition, open to all officers, which consists of an obstacle course, a test of marksmanship, a written exam, and a real time tactical scenario. And every year the winner of this competition receives a semi-decent plaque and a semi-decent prize, like popular concert tickets or a visit to a spa. This year, it was an exclusive all day wine tasting at the nearby Voigt Winery. Also this year, for the first time ever, there were two winners: Inspector Jack Robinson of City South and Inspector Phryne Fisher of City North both achieved perfect scores. Two plaques were awarded and two vouchers were presented to two detectives who would attend together.

It was not a date.

Inspectors Robinson and Fisher each repeated this statement many times to many colleagues in the weeks leading up to the tasting, as well as the phrases, “we’re just friends” and “shut up.” Their colleagues’ confusion was understandable, though, given that every time said Inspectors were together, their chemistry was beyond obvious, as was the fact they were never, ever planning to do anything about it. They fought and flirted and stood far, _far_ too close to each other and had done for what seemed like forever.

Friends had taken to calling them “The Literal URST” behind their backs.

So by the time the tasting rolled around everyone was very, very clear, courtesy of both Inspectors, that it was _not_ a date.

What it was, was… fun. Really, really fun. They always enjoyed each other’s company, but away from work, they simply enjoyed each other. It was, appropriately, intoxicating.

Also, the wine was good.

Really, _really_ good.

So good, in fact, that by the end of the tasting neither detective was fit to drive home. 

She suggested calling an Uber, but her phone had died and he didn’t have the app on principle. He tried to call a taxi, but that proved fruitless in his inebriated state and eventually they just decided to walk. Together, but only because they were both headed the same way.

Because it was not a date.

Halfway back to her place they came across a playground, and, in her inebriated state, she hopped up on one of the swings, daring him to as well.

He rolled his eyes, but joined her anyway.

It was a very dark night, and as they swung back and forth their eyes inevitably drifted up.

“The stars are very pretty,” she said, her voice a little dreamy.

“Mmmmm,” he agreed earnestly. “I’ve always thought so.”

“Were you interested in the stars growing up?”

He turned to face her as best he could on a moving swing. “Junior Astronomer, 10 years running.”

She laughed in delight and he chuckled with her.

“My dad,” he continued what the wine had begun, “got me into it. We used to go stargazing all the time. He’d get me up at 3am if need be — to see something really special, mind — then drive me straight to school after so I wouldn’t be late.”

“Oh, so the obsessive rule following is genetic,” she determined, smiling fondly at him.

“Must be,” he agreed.

They stayed quiet for a while after that, just swinging in companionable silence.

Until she broke it.

“Why did you never ask me out?” The question was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear it. “We both know there’s something here. Why… why did you never pursue it?”

Jack kept swinging. 

“When I was 15,” he told her quietly, “my dad and I went to Yarra Bluff to see a particularly impressive meteor shower. It was really spectacular that year, Phryne, like the heavens were putting on a light show.” He smiled a little at the memory, before continuing his story.

“We always went to Yarra Bluff for something like that; the views were great. But as we parked the car that night, there were these three old guys leaving. Said they’d heard about another place where the views were even better. Invited us to come with them. But my dad and I… we knew our spot. Decided to stay with what we knew, rather than risk losing it all.” 

He sighed, pumping his legs a little less enthusiastically on the swings. “I guess the cautious nature is genetic too.”

She raised an eyebrow and frowned. “And what am I in this analogy? The bluff?”

He looked up, watching the stars. “You’re the heavens, Phryne. You always were.”

In response, she made a small noise he couldn’t identify, and he risked a glance her way, but she was staring ahead at nothing in particular. “Why didn’t you ask me out?” he inquired with alcohol fueled curiosity.

She smiled sadly. “Oh that’s easy — I thought you’d say no.”

Their swings were slowing down, the moment passing as so many moments between them had passed over the years, when suddenly she looked up sharply.

“Oh, Jack, look!”

It was a shooting star, and Jack knew how rare that was to see through the lights of the city, so he did look up at it, but only for a moment before his attention was back on her.

It always was.

Maybe it was because the walk and the playground and the stars reminded him of his youth, or maybe it was because the wine was really, _really_ good, or maybe it was something else entirely, but for whatever reason when the swings came to rest he came to life, reaching across the small space between them and kissing her, seizing this moment before it was gone. She responded ardently and they wound up tangling limbs and chains in their enthusiasm before a man walking his dog brought them both back to earth.

“For the record,” he said softly, his forehead still touching hers, “this is me saying yes.”

She placed a hand on his cheek, her delighted expression mirroring his own. “Me too,” she whispered.

Jack grinned, part wine, mostly Phryne, and offered to walk her home. Reminding him that that had been the plan the whole time, it was her turn to roll her eyes, but she took his hand all the same.

They stopped three more times in shadowed streets and darkened alleys to make out, seizing moments all over Melbourne, making up for lost time.

Eventually, they made it back to her street. They were both mostly sober by then, which is why it meant all the more that she asked him to come back the next night for dinner and a private whisky tasting. He happily agreed, but as they approached her condo, he didn’t walk her to her front door. 

Just the bottom step. 

After all, it was _not_ a date.

\---------------------

[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	8. Fake Married + Poorly Timed Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Arlome: Fake Married + Poorly Timed Confession

Jack Robinson didn’t generally rank criminals, but if he _did_ this one would be very near the bottom of his list. Because this criminal — a blackmailer who targeted married men, lured them into compromising situations, and then extorted them with the photographs — had created a situation where he was forced to play the role of Phryne Fisher’s husband.

Bloody bastard.

Undercover and annoyed, Jack sipped his drink and waited for Phryne to return to the table. She was off powdering her nose, again, in the hopes of allowing their unknown suspect time to approach Jack while he was alone.

So far the only person to approach him was their overeager waiter, checking to see if his “wife” needed anything.

Jack took another sip of his wine and sighed, then froze as an elegant arm wound over his shoulder and down his chest.

“Why so glum, darling?” she simpered, lips far, far too close to his ear.

“My wife keeps abandoning me,” he muttered and she laughed before retaking her seat, raising a hand to flag down their waiter and ask about the state of their dinner.

The restaurant was busy tonight, which was good for the case. The blackmailer liked it busy, easy cover for his dirty dealings. But Jack would really rather the kitchen got a wriggle on — lunch had been a long time ago.

The waiter promised dinner would be out soon, before offering to top off her drink on the house.

Jack’s drink was ignored.

Once the waiter was gone, Phryne dropped the affected voice and leaned in to address him.

“Alright, out with it, Jack. Why is Mr Collins so unhappy?”

Oh. Yes. And they were here as Mr and Mrs Collins because Phryne found it hilarious.

Damn bloody bastard blackmailer.

“I’m not unhappy,” he told her, slightly defensive. “I’m hungry.”

_Also_ , he thought, but didn’t say, _when you suggested dinner after Christmas in July, this is not what I’d had in mind._

Phryne looked unconvinced, but didn’t press it for which he was grateful.

“Alright,” she said instead, “do you want to hear what I found out in the ladies’ room?”

“Is it case related?” he asked. He didn’t really care either way, but thought he should at least offer the pretense of professionalism.

“Mmmm,” she confirmed. “The attendant asked me how long we’d been married. I think she’s in on it too, Jack, fishing for information on whether or not you’re likely to stray. I think we should put a constable on her after we leave, see where she goes.”

Jack nodded his agreement, then, for no particular reason except he was curious, asked, “What did you tell her?”

“What did I tell who?” Phryne queried, her attention already back on the crowd.

“What did you tell the attendant?”

“Oh. I told her it just in the last year,” Phryne answered, only half paying attention to him, a large man by the bar receiving the rest.

“When?” he inquired, in case he needed the information later.

Phryne craned her neck to get a better view of the man. “Um, December 19th. Said we’d eloped right before my birthday.”

Jack took another sip of his wine and frowned. December 19th? That was during…

“You told her we got married during the Foyle Case?”

THAT got her attention. Phryne turned around and, to his absolute astonishment, blushed. Really, truly, _blushed_.

“Oh, I… well, yes. It just came to mind.”

And _stammered_. Phryne Fisher blushed _and_ stammered. He didn’t even think she was capable of such things. What on earth…

“ _Why_?” he asked, his focus now well and truly on the shocking pink of her cheeks.

“I…” She bit her bottom lip. “It’s an important date, that’s all.”

“The 19th? At the risk of repeating myself… why?”

“You’ll laugh,” she said quietly.

Jack put down his drink, intending to make a quip, but stopped when he saw her face — she had gone from adorably flustered to actually troubled fast, and it shook him.

“Phryne…” He reached out and tentatively took her hand. “I promise, I won’t.”

She looked at him carefully, then blew out a breath. “December 19th was the day we walked into that room at the station and I found your… wall.”

“My wall?” He looked at her in confusion for a moment, before he realized what she meant. “Oh the notes. Why would that stand out? I mean, it was solid policework, but…”

She stared at him like he had two heads.

“Jack, that day… my sister’s killer was on the loose, I’d just found my friends drugged, my daughter was missing…” She swallowed and held his hand tight.

“I was at sea and you pulled me to shore. That room… your work.” She rolled her eyes, and he was gutted to see tears in them as she did. “I take care of people, Jack. And I love it, I do. It’s who I am. But that day… that day you took care of me. Without asking anything in return. And I’ve never forgotten how that made me feel.” She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand before letting go, blinking back the tears and regaining her Phryne Fisher composure. “Right. So, as I said, an important date. And as good as any for a fake anniversary, don’t you think?”

Jack looked at her, dumbstruck. He had had no idea. Now it was his turn to swallow. “I was just doing my job,” he said, his voice rough even to his own ears.

She smiled at him, far too knowing even now. “You keep telling yourself that.”

She was right of course, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it then and he wasn’t sure he was ready to now. Instead he deflected, a move he was far more comfortable with. He took another sip of his wine to steady himself. “I wouldn’t think you’d like that, being taken care of.”

She shook her head. “Generally not, no. But as it turns out, in the right situation, by the right person, I don’t mind it so much.”

She shrugged, attempting to keep her words light, but he could see what that confession cost her.

So he decided to make an ill-timed one of his own.

Without looking at her, he put down his napkin and pushed his chair out a bit. “We should go. The operation is a bust.”

Phryne tilted her head in confusion. “Why?”

Jack turned to meet her gaze. “Because no one with eyes could look at us now and think I’d ever be unfaithful to you.”

Phryne smiled at him, reached over, and straightened his tie. “You do act the part of the doting partner well, Jack.”

“As I told you the last time, I’m not acting anymore.” She raised her eyebrows and he smirked. “I’m sticking to crime, remember?” Then he stood and offered her his arm, which she took, standing herself.

“Well if we’re leaving without dinner, may I suggest a rain check? Perhaps tomorrow night at mine? I believe Dot has evening plans with Cec and Bert.”

“Mrs Collins, it’s a date.”

\---------------------

[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)


	9. First Sentence Meme: Deep Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Fire_Sign: "Jack breathed deeply and wished for the ground to swallow him whole."

Jack breathed deeply and wished for the ground to swallow him whole.

No such luck.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he told her.

“Oh?” she asked, her expression far too knowing. “Then what is it?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Alright, yes, fine, this is exactly what it looks like.” He sighed, threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “I was just hoping you wouldn’t have any followup questions.”

Phryne walked over to his desk, slowly pushed aside both her copy of _Erotica of the Far East_ and Jack’s accompanying notes and diagrams, and took her customary seat on the corner.

“Darling, if you were hoping I wouldn’t have any questions, you clearly forgot who you were talking to.”

\---------------------

[Send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic and I’ll write the next five.](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/ask)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the _spirit_ of five sentences? 😂


	10. First Sentence Meme: Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Arlome: "I don't make the rules, I only follow them."
> 
> Since this was from Arlome, and it fit so well, I decided to make it a LuciPhrack response to [her five sentence fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22800274/chapters/54487162) from my ask. Circular logic if ever there was. 😂

“I don’t make the rules, I only follow them.”

It was a truth and also a plea - for understanding, for not pursuing this any further.

“And what about your conscience? Your heart? Do you not follow those as well? What happens when the three diverge?”

Jack felt hot, the whisky and the offer burning through his veins. The most galling part, though, was the other man was _right_.

“There’s always a way,” Jack confessed. “If you’re willing to ignore either the spirit or the letter hard enough.”

“And are you?” Lucifer asked with a growing grin. “Hard enough?”

Jack stared at the other man for a long beat, then walked over and kissed him. Hard.

“Follow that,” he said.

\---------------------

[Send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic and I’ll write the next five.](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/ask)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at just five sentences. 😂


	11. Bookshop AU + Locked in a Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anonymous: Bookshop AU + Locked in a Room

There is a little shop in Richmond that is a bookworm’s dream.

Tucked away off an alley, on the site of the former Gaskin Factory, it started a decade ago as a small independent bookshop and now boasts 28 rooms filled from bottom to top with books. Walls upon walls filled with reading materials spanning every genre, level of intellect, and length to meet every reader’s requirements. 

It is Jack Robinson’s pride and joy.

He started it right after he was discharged from the army — one room, mostly second hand copies — and threw himself into building it up. After his divorce a few years later, it became his whole life.

With so many rooms, he often hosted special events, like book clubs and launches. Today he was hosting an author signing. Phryne Fisher, a Melbourne native whose crime novels were flying off his and every other bookstore proprietor's shelves, would be signing copies of her newest book, _Murder on the XPT._

And he was pleased. He enjoyed her novels, thought she might be fun to chat with.

And then he met her. 

And he was so much more than pleased.

Because Phryne Fisher was, in a word, marvelous. She was funny and smart and charming. She made every patron feel special, but never diminished herself to do so. And the event went well. So well that by the time the last customer left it was late and they were the last two in the shop. And then Jack did something completely out of character.

He asked her to stay for a drink.

A celebratory nightcap, he called it. To commemorate selling out of all her books completely in a single day. Phryne agreed — eagerly, he thought, but that could have been wishful thinking on his part — so he excused himself to the storeroom to go grab the bottle of good stuff he kept back there. But Phryne didn’t wait and followed him in.

It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know about the door.

He had propped it open behind him as he always did when he went into this particular room, because the spring was broken and the door automatically locked from the outside every time. He always said he would get around to fixing it. He never had.

And now they were locked in.

Her purse (and mobile phone) were next to his jacket (and mobile phone) by the registers (and store phone). 

So it appeared they were locked in for the night.

They spent the first hour sharing the good whisky, and making small talk. By hour two they’d finished the bottle and moved onto more serious questions like favorite place to read (she liked her window seat, while he preferred his garden), which literary character would you most like to be in a relationship with (she chose Captain Wentworth, he chose Scheherazade) and which movies were actually _better_ than the book (they settled jointly on _The Wizard of Oz_ , _The Godfather_ , and _The Princess Bride_ ).

Then the question “which book series is your favourite?” was asked, but the game came to a sudden halt when Jack said Discworld and Phryne said she’d never read it. 

Most of hour three was a passionate speech from Jack on the merits of the work and the legacy of Terry Pratchett, which ended only when Phyrne laughed, confessed that she loved them, and then quoted _Thud!_ from heart. Then she casually mentioned she had actually met Pratchett once at a book signing when she was a student and promptly became Jack’s hero.

Hour four was spent reading sections of books in the storeroom to each other, including _Riders of the Purple Sage_ (a favourite of Jack’s), _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ (a favourite of Phryne’s), _Antony and Cleopatra_ (a new favourite of Phryne’s), and _Cooking for Two_ (which Jack admitted wryly that he often used, but halved the recipes). 

When they came across a batch of old physics textbooks, Jack got excited, exclaiming they could use the calculations to figure out how to pry open the door. 

Phryne rolled her eyes, stacked them all on top of each other, climbed up, and then squeezed herself through the transom above the door.

As her feet disappeared from view, ensuring rescue was moments away, Jack was surprised to realize he felt a little sad about that.

She opened the door and let him out and four and half hours after they’d been accidentally locked in, Jack and Phyrne parted ways.

The next morning he opened the shop to find a copy of _Cooking for Two_ on his desk with a post-it note on top. In her neat hand was her phone number and the words, “second date?”

And then Jack did something else completely out of character.

He texted her.

Three months and many, many dates later, he sent her a photo of his Discworld shelf, pointing at _Thud!_ , with a quick message. 

_Can’t pass this without thinking of you._

Her response came moments later.

_So what you’re saying is, when you think about me you touch your shelf?_

Jack barked out a laugh, and hurried to finish up for the night.

The bookshop was still his pride and joy, but right now he was rather eager to leave.

It was a novel experience. And he liked it.

\---------------------

[| Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/190641669928/fanfiction-trope-mash-up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's shop is loosely based on The Book Loft in Columbus, Ohio. If you're ever there, I highly recommend you check it out!


	12. Fake Fix-it Fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while reading an earlier story of mine, whopooh shared with me that a description I'd written of Jack walking into Wardlow one morning prompted this super sad image for her: _"What if Phrack were broken for real, Phryne not interested in Jack anymore because he disappointed her too much somehow, and he went back for something official and just seeing everyone and everything going on as normal - Mr B, Jane, Bert and Cec - just, doing fine but completely without him…. Her cold gaze at him. "Yes? And what do you want?"_
> 
> And, I mean, after she put that in my head, how could I just leave it alone? So here is a fake fix-it fic, for the fic that doesn’t actually exist (and try saying that five times fast). 😉

This was a mistake.

Jack sat outside the house, fingers absentmindedly drumming along the door, staring at the windows illuminated softly from the inside.

This was a huge mistake.

He should have sent someone else. Anyone else. It didn’t matter that he’d been through all the arguments in his head already. There was no one else. He needed her to agree to this, and frankly she’d eat any other officer he sent alive. The one possible exception was Hugh, out of respect for Mrs. Collins, but they were away visiting her sister in Geelong and wouldn’t be back for several days and this had to happen now.

Still. It was mistake.

Sighing because there was nothing for it, he opened the car door and walked quickly to the front door, climbing the front steps and trying to stay as dry as possible. Of course it was raining. It had been raining the last time he’d seen her as well. 

He knocked four times, his policeman’s knock as Rosie had called it. He was here officially after all. Back at Wardlow for the first time in three months.

A moment later the door opened to reveal Mr. Butler, who seemed unsurprised by Jack’s presence on the front step after so much time. Of course, very little surprised the man. He opened the door wider, inviting Jack to come in out of the rain and Jack nodded in thanks. 

“Good evening, Mr. Butler. Is Miss Fisher home this evening?”

“I believe so, sir. I’ll just go and check. Would you mind waiting in the parlour?”

“Of course.”

Mr. Butler turned and walked back towards the kitchen, and it was then that Jack heard it. Laughter. Specifically, several people laughing at once at something they all found especially funny. Listening intently, he tried to make out the individual voices. He heard Albert and Cec and Jane. And Phryne. God that laugh. It haunted his dreams.

The warm glow of the kitchen light spilled out in his direction and Jack was momentarily overcome with sadness. He had been a part of that; they had been his family too. He had belonged. Now he was once again a stray; a wet cat in her parlour waiting to be turned out shortly.

He blinked quickly a few times, took a deep breath, and willed his body not to betray him. As his face once again became an unreadable mask, he turned and walked into the parlour. Almost on instinct he walked to the mantelpiece before realizing how fraught that would be. He turned slowly, looking for a safe place to wait. There was none. Memories inhabited every corner — and frankly flat surface — of the room and he finally resigned himself to waiting at the mantel. At least here he could hold on.

Movement in the hall caught his attention and he braced himself moments before she appeared. Walking into the parlour, her face light up and she whispered, “Jack” before she could stop herself. Instinct. But her quicksilver mind caught up to itself remarkably fast, and the light was out in a moment, replaced with anger, hurt, sadness. 

This was a mistake.

“Miss Fisher,” he said, proud that his voice sounded somewhat even.

“Inspector,” she responded coolly.

“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I’m afraid this really can’t wait.”

“It’s no bother, Inspector. I’m sure you remembered the address.”

“Yes, well…” He floundered. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. He had rehearsed this in the car. He knew what he had to say. He just had to actually say it. Moments ticked by. _Just talk man, talk!_ He opened his mouth again, but again, no sound came out. If nothing else, she seemed amused by that. Well, at least one of them was having fun.

“It’s about the Anderson case,” he finally got out.

She was suddenly less amused.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I need - we, that is the crown prosecutor and the State of Victoria, need Mrs. Anderson’s necklace. As evidence. And I need you to convince her to bring it in.”

Now it was Phryne’s turn to flounder. She didn’t of course. Just raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and widened her eyes at the suggestion. But before she could say anything, Jane came bounding into the room. The girl stopped short at seeing Jack and the way her face lit up with hope broke his heart in two. She had always been their biggest cheerleader. She had probably taken it the hardest when they’d ended. He didn’t know for sure, of course. It had been three months since he’d seen her as well.

“Inspector!” she cried, rushing over to give him a hug. He returned it with equal enthusiasm. If this was all he got, he’d make the most of it, dammit.

“Jane! How are you?”

“I’m excellent, thank you. Are you coming with us as well?”

“Uh…”

“We’re all going to the pictures to see Mr. Hirsch’s latest film again. Are you joining us?”

“No, Jane,” Phryne finally interrupted, “he’s not.”

“Why not? It’s a _mystery_. He’d love it!”

Phryne shot Jack a look he understood immediately and he stepped in. He wasn’t going to make her the bad guy with her daughter.

“I’m actually here for work, Jane. And I need to be getting back to the station shortly. But thank you for the invitation.”

She looked immensely disappointed, but kept her chin up all the same. She’d suffered far worse. Still…

“But I was wondering, if you’re free this weekend...” he began slowly, giving Phryne ample time to cut him off if she objected. She didn’t. She wasn’t going to make him the bad guy either. “Perhaps you’d like to accompany me to a lecture at the University of Melbourne. It’s on advancements in forensic science. That is, if you’re not already going with Miss Fisher.”

“No, I’m afraid I have to skip that one, Inspector. But if Jane’s interested, she’s certainly welcome to join you.”

“Excellent!” the girl shouted. “Then I’ll see you this weekend!” Then she turned to Phryne. “Are you almost ready? It’s time to leave.”

Phryne looked between the clock and Jack and frowned. With a sigh, she turned back to Jane. 

“Why don’t you, Cec, Bert and Mr. Butler go on ahead? I’ll meet you then in the Hispano.”

“Are you sure?” Jane asked?

“Absolutely. I’ve already seen it three times. I can always join you late if necessary.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Inspector.”

“Goodnight, Jane.”

And then she was gone. They heard some bustling in the kitchen, the door open and close. And then they were alone.

Phryne turned the full force of her personality on Jack then and finally answered his request.

“Absolutely not!” she said sternly.

“Miss Fisher — ”

“Do you even know what she went through to get that necklace back? It was her mother’s! The only thing she had left.”

“I am aware. It’s also evidence of Mr. Meadow’s scheme. We need it to match to the insurance photographs. The whole case hinges upon it. Otherwise he gets away with the blackmail and the murder. I’m sure Mrs. Anderson doesn’t want that. She’ll have it back in two, three months tops.”

“Three months! In police custody. Yes, I’m sure it will be very safe,” she muttered sarcastically. 

“I will vouch for its safety personally.”

“No offense, Inspector, but you haven’t really treated your valuables well in the past.”

It was a shot aimed directly at his heart. He fired back.

“Fool’s gold is for fools, Miss Fisher, it didn’t seem worth the trouble.”

He heard the quick intake of breath that revealed her surprise, her pain at his words. His aim had been true. The sentiment had been false.

This was such a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that was uncalled for. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll see myself out.”

He stepped past her into the foyer. Grabbed his hat and coat and opened the front door.

Which is precisely when the heavens opened up.

To call it a thunderstorm would be an understatement. To call it a hurricane _might_ have been accurate, but even that didn’t feel strong enough. Jack looked outside, knew there was no way he’d be able to drive in this and resigned himself to waiting it out in the car. Just as he was about to make a run for it, he felt a hand on his elbow.

“Stop.”

He turned to look at her. She seemed resigned as well.

“That weather’s ridiculous and you’re ridiculous for attempting to go out in it. Just… wait out the storm in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s not fit for man nor beast out there, and I know you’re one of the two.”

She turned then and walked back into the parlor. He put his hat and coat back on their pegs and followed her. 

When he stepped inside, she was pouring two whiskys. As she turned to hand him his, their fingers touched and the feeling was so familiar he almost dropped the glass. The almost startled look on her face confirmed she’d felt it too. They moved apart, quickly, and sat opposite each other in her chairs. 

For a while neither spoke, just listened to the storm outside, took the occasional sip from their respective glasses. 

“So,” Phryne finally said, “on a scale of ‘Aunt Prudence notices my sweater is on inside out after you and I return from a walk’ to ‘dying naked in the shower with the opposition's scarf around your throat’, how awkward is this do you think?”

He didn’t look up from his glass, but the barest hint of a smile formed in the corner of his mouth all the same.

“Far closer to the former, Miss Fisher. West Melbourne colors would clash hideously with this tie.”

She snorted at that and the tension was broken, or at least fractured. She took a long sip of whisky and he did the same.

“I’m sorry about asking Jane to the lecture like that,” he said. “I should have checked with you first before I suggested it.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him. “I should have made more of an effort to ensure you saw her these past few months. She adores you. She’s taken this… very hard.”

He nodded. 

Silence.

“You look well,” he said. It was small talk, but he meant it all the same.

“You look thin,” she countered.

“I look fine,” he corrected. “I’ve just been without Mr. Butler’s cooking for a while.”

“Something you should have taken into account when you ended things, Jack.”

He stopped, glass halfway to his lips.

“When I... what?”

“When you ended things. There were fringe benefits to our relationship you clearly didn’t consider.”

“I didn’t end things — you did.”

Her jaw dropped open and she stared at him.

“Me?” she finally replied. “How did… you’re the one who left!”

“Because we were arguing!”

“You never came back!”

“Because you sent your cabbies over to my house with a box of my things! It was a very clear message.”

“A week later! What was I supposed to think?”

“That I was giving you space,” he replied.

“You were brooding, don’t pretend it was for my benefit,” she shot back.

“So you…” he trailed off, uncertain what he had meant to say. He was dumbfounded at the realization.

After a moment, she let out a completely humorless laugh. “Well this is fitting, don’t you think? We ended it the same way we did everything — together.”

For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Jack stood, suddenly. “I should go.”

He wasn’t sure if the rain had let up or not, just knew that he had to get out of that house. He mumbled a thank you for the whisky and was out the door, hat and coat in hands, in seconds. The storm had thankfully subsided by that point and he was able to reach his car relatively unscathed.

She hadn’t ended things.

But they had still ended.

He tried to remember the night it happened. A shootout. A gunman. A bullet. So close to her head he heard it make impact with the earthen wall behind her. The sound familiar from four years of the same. It stole the breath from his lungs. He was shaking too much to retrieve the fragments as evidence; he’d had to make Collins do it.

Back at Wardlow. An argument. Words he couldn’t remember saying, words he could. Reckless. Stupid. Selfish.

He should have said, I love you.

She said things too. Funny, he couldn’t remember what. Not the specifics anyway. Dismissive things. Destructive things. They were barely hearing each other. They certainly weren’t listening. Then he was gone. 

Out the door, back to his home. Waiting. Waiting to hear from her. Waiting to forgive. Waiting to be forgiven. Waiting. Waiting too long.

A week later, Albert and Cecil had delivered a box of his things to his home, neatly packed. The pity in their eyes had been almost unbearable.

He’d finished all the whisky in the house that night.

And now, now it turned out neither had intended to break it off, but their respective anger and pain and stubbornness had combined to end a relationship he had cherished more than anything.

It had been a _mistake_.

For the second time that night, Jack felt tears well up in his eyes. This time he let them fall.

\---------------------

Jack took a deep breath. Raised his hand. Three knocks in quick succession. 

Mr. Butler opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Inspector. Please, come in.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler. Is Jane ready?”

“Just a moment longer, I think, sir. Would you care for a cup of tea while you wait?”

“Um, yes, actually, thank you.”

Jack followed Mr. Butler to the kitchen. Sat down at the familiar table. Appreciated being there in a way he hadn’t before. A moment later Phryne entered, putting on an earring, clearly getting ready to leave.

“Oh! Hello, Inspector. Jane isn’t down yet?” she asked Mr. Butler.

“No, apparently the cloche she chose was all wrong. Too ‘frivolous’ for a lecture. She’s gone back upstairs to find a new one.”

“I see.”

“Would you care for a cup of tea before you go out, miss?”

“Oh, uh, yes, thank you.”

She sat at the table opposite Jack. Mr. Butler poured them each a cup and then disappeared, leaving them alone. There was silence for a moment. Then there wasn’t.

“I — ”

“I — ”

They both stopped. Smiled. Jack nodded for Phryne to go first. She shook her head. “Age before beauty, Inspector.” He rolled his eyes, but acquiesced all the same.

“I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly the other night. It was a… surprise. What you told me. I reacted poorly.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said.

“For what?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, with a sad sort of smile.

He nodded. Somehow he understood.

“I’ve missed this,” he said. “You. Spending time with you, I mean.”

“Me too,” she confessed. “Do you think,” she began, slowly, “do you think, if we try, we might be friends again?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I’d like it if we were.”

“Me too,” she said again, reaching across the table to take his hand. He squeezed it once, and she returned the gesture.

Then they broke apart, sat back, enjoyed their tea.

\---------------------

Jack knocked twice on the door, distracted by the frankly enormous flower arrangement on the front porch.

Mr. Butler opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Butler. Is Miss Fisher home?”

“Yes, sir. Please, come in.”

Mr. Butler took the younger man’s hat and coat and walked over to the parlour door.

“The Inspector, miss.”

Phryne looked up from her draughts board and smiled. “Hello, Jack. Back again so soon?”

“Is it soon?”

“You were here on Monday to get my statement on the MacMillan matter.”

“Well that was work.”

“And this is pleasure?”

He ignored the insinuation and changed the subject instead. “You know there’s a small botanical garden on your front step.”

She waved her hand as though brushing away a gnat. “Some men can’t take a hint.” She smiled. “You’re welcome to take it with you.”

“Best not. Don’t want to give the man the wrong impression. _I’m_ not so easily wooed,” he said with a small smile.

“I remember,” she said with a smile of her own. 

Neither said anything for a moment. 

“So if it’s not work…” she queried. 

“Ah. Yes.” He pulled from his coat pocket a black beret and her eyes lit up. “This was found very near, but fortunately for its owner not actually _at_ , the Wilson Home this morning. Seeing as how I couldn’t find the owner after a frankly exhaustive search, I thought I’d see if you might like a second one.”

“Oh yes!” she said, jumping up and taking it back. She looked at it closely. “You didn’t wash it?”

“I didn’t see the point. There are three more houses on that break-in list. I expect that hat to see some more use fairly soon.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. And thank you.”

They smiled at each other.

“So draughts?” Jack finally asked, breaking eye contact to look over the board. “Playing Jane?”

“My friend Ingrid, actually. In Sweden. We play by post.”

“That must take an awfully long time to finish a game.”

“It does. This is our second one in four years. But we enjoy it.”

“Well, I won’t keep you then,” he said, making to leave.

“I could use a partner!” she called. “To practice with. I mean. Would you care to play?”

“It’s been a while,” he remarked, instinctively sitting down opposite her as if no time had passed at all.

“It’s just like your bicycle, Jack. You never forget.”

“I suppose we’ll see.”

Draughts became dinner became drinks. That had been happening more and more lately.

_Friends_ , he thought, _we’re friends_.

Some men can’t take a hint.

\---------------------

Jack sat on her front step, envelope in hand. He didn't know if she was home. Wasn’t sure he would go in if she was. Just contemplated the contents in silence. Finally he stood, walked down the path back to his car, turned around, back to the door. 

_Oh for god’s sake stop dithering, man!_

He reached up to knock, but only got one in before Mr. Butler opened the door.

“Good morning, Inspector. I was just about to go to the shops.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll…” Jack tried to stand to the side to let the man pass.

Mr. Butler fixed him with a curious look. “Miss Fisher is in the kitchen, if you’re looking for her.” And then he was gone.

Jack walked through the house, pausing in the kitchen door. She had clearly just woken up, hair still tousled, coffee cup in hand. He coughed slightly, to announce himself, and she turned around.

“Jack! You’re here early. Miss me already?”

“I never get a chance to. It feels as if I’m back at Wardlow every second day.”

“Well I hope you’re not here to apologize for that.”

“Not for that, no.”

She looked at him curiously. “Then what?”

He sat down opposite her at the table. Pulled the envelope out of his pocket. Put it on the table.

“This is a letter from my friend Thomas. In Perth. We served together, in the War.”

“Must be a good friend,” she concluded, “if you’re still in touch.”

“He is. He… he was the best mate I had over there. Then, one day in France, he caught a bullet. It was… bad.”

“Well I assume he recovered, or the Australian Mail Service deserves more acclaim for their dedication.”

Jack nodded. “He did. But I was thinking… when he got shot, I was scared. I was terrified, actually. I’d lost friends before, but he… Anyway, what I was thinking about, when I got this letter yesterday, was what I did after that. When he was recovering.”

“What did you do?” she asked gently.

“Nothing important. Just… I snuck him dirty magazines and contraband food and teased him mercilessly that he was milking an ordinary bullet wound for all it was worth just to keep out of the trenches.”

“In other words, you were his friend.”

“I was.” He looked at her. “But I wasn’t yours. That night, when… I was so scared, Phryne. I haven’t been that scared since… well, to be honest, I can’t remember when. I handled it badly. And I’m sorry. Whatever else we’ve been to each other, we’ve always been friends, and I wasn’t that night. I wasn’t your friend. And I’m sorry.”

“Jack, I… thank you. I’m sorry too. I wasn’t much of a friend to you that night either. And look what it cost us.”

He nodded. Looked down at the letter in his hand. “Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I should have said it sooner.”

They were quiet for a moment after that. Then she spoke, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “For the record, I wouldn’t have turned down a dirty magazine you know.”

He snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mood lightened, she asked, “Would you like to stay for some coffee?”

“Yes, yes I would, thank you.”

She got up to pour it, and he tucked the letter away.

“Oh,” he began, “I meant to mention, it looks like Mrs. Anderson will get her necklace back next week.”

“Excellent! She will be delighted!” Phryne handed him a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she continued, “for taking such good care of it.”

“Of course. And you see, three months wasn’t so long, now was it?”

“Depends what you’re missing,” she said. 

He nodded his agreement. Tried not to read into it.

They drank their coffee in companionable silence.

\---------------------

Jack raced up the steps to the front door, fingers clasped tightly around the object in his hand.

He wasn’t sure why he’d gone through the box tonight after all this time. At first it had been too painful. Then it had seemed too soon. Then, just a chore he didn’t want to do. But that night, as he’d finally looked through all the things she’d sent him, he found it. 

A small, toy badge. 

Pinned to a note.

>   
>  _Jack,_
> 
> _For your next partner._
> 
> _For myself, I would not wish_
> 
> _Any companion in the world but you._
> 
> _Phryne_

It was raining, and he almost slipped on the stairs, but he grabbed a chair and caught himself. 

The noise must have alerted her, because she opened the door before he could even knock. He stared at her, suddenly not sure where to start.

“Jack!”

“Miss Fisher,” he responded, which seems ridiculously formal all of the sudden, standing on her front porch, soaked to the skin.

Despite the late hour, she was clearly dressed to go out. He pressed on anyway.

“Miss Fisher, I needed to — ”

“Jack, you’re soaked! Come in out of the rain, you foolish man.”

“Ah. Yes. Alright.” He stepped into her foyer. “I needed to see you.”

“Well… here I am.”

“Yes.” He took her hand and gently placed the badge in it. She looked up and met his eyes.

“This is yours,” he said. “It will _always_ be yours. I didn’t see it until tonight, or I would have- it doesn’t matter. I just needed to return it to my partner.”

As he looked down to her hand again, a flash of blue caught his eye. There, pinned to her scarf, was the swallow pin.

She met his eye with a smile.

“Phryne, where were you off to tonight?”

“To see you, of course.”

“I see. Always two steps ahead, Miss Fisher?”

“Not always, Jack Robinson.”

She made no move towards him, but Jack recognized the invitation for what it was and reached for her. If an entire battalion of aunts had come around the corner at that moment it would have made no difference. 

Jack had six months of kisses to make up.

When he released her, finally, she smiled at him. He was smiling too, although he was trying not too. 

“This is serious, Phryne. We have to try harder this time. Partners and friends, _first_. We made a mistake forgetting that last time.”

“I know.”

“This will take work.”

“I _know_ , Jack. I'll try to stay in step, all the same.”

And then he kissed her again, and he didn’t stop kissing her until long after they’d stumbled up the stairs and down the hall and shut her bedroom door.

Jack Robinson was home.


	13. Modern AU + Fake Marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Arlome: Modern AU + Fake Marriage

“Jack?” Phryne glanced down and fiddled nervously with the hem of her skirt, before looking up again. “I have… I have a few things that I need to say, and I just really need to get them out, so please don’t interrupt me, ok?”

She waited a moment to see if he would, but of course he didn’t: he was Jack.

“First of all, I wanted to thank you. I know I already have, but, just, thank you. For not letting Foyle escape, for… for everything.” She nodded, then took a deep breath; this would be the hard part. 

“But also, I wanted to… to apologize.” She huffed out a laugh. “Which might confuse you, I know, but just hear me out. I wanted to apologize for what I said in the courtroom, before… before everything went to hell. The plea bargain wasn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I was just so _angry_. Angry at the prosecutor and the system and… and myself. Because I almost did the same thing, didn’t I? I almost traded justice for answers. Took his deal in exchange for the truth about my sister, because I so badly needed to _know_ \- ” She paused. Took another deep breath. 

“And I didn’t, of course, but… I could have. I might have. Except, except then you believed in me and trusted me and said I already knew what to do, and how could I do the wrong thing when the best person I know believed that I wouldn’t? And you were right. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d placed myself above the law. Even if sometimes… sometimes it’s hard to live with myself anyway.” She blinked back tears and took his hand. 

“Enough of that, now,” she scolded herself. “All this is to say that I’m sorry for what I said, but also I’ve made a decision because of it. Because I was also right, Jack, that deal wasn’t justice and even if it doesn’t matter anymore for Foyle, I don’t want anyone else to ever feel the way I felt when it was announced. So I’m going back to law school.” She laughed again, more sincere this time. “I know, at my age…” Phryne paused and regarded Jack with narrowed eyes. “That’s the part where you’re _supposed_ to assure me I’m not at all old, but I’ll let it slide this time because I told you not to interrupt.” She squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’m going back to law school and I wanted to tell you first. Because I _always_ want to tell you first. You’re my best friend, Jack, and I love… I love you. Which is the other thing I needed to say. And probably the most important. And I think we should make a real go of it. If you want to, I mean. What… what do you think?” 

Phryne swallowed and waited. “You can interrupt me now,” she assured him quietly, hoping he would say… _something_. 

“M’am?”

Phryne looked up. A nurse was standing in the door, silhouetted in the light, holding a pillow. 

“Yes?” Phryne replied. 

“I brought you a pillow. Thought you might need one, if you’re planning to stay the night again. That chair’s hardly comfortable.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Phryne said, accepting the pillow with a grateful smile.

“No problem at all, Mrs. Robinson.” She offered Phryne a comforting look in return. “Need to be well rested when he wakes up, don’t we?”

Phryne’s smile faltered slightly and she nodded, waiting for the other woman to leave before turning back to Jack. 

“Oh. Yes. And there might be a few other things I’ll need to catch you up on when you wake up.” She absently spun the ring currently on her left hand that until yesterday had always sat on her right. “Can you believe they wanted me to leave? Ridiculous.”

She leaned back into the pillow, careful not to let go of his hand as she did. 

“So you’d damn well better wake up, Jack, because I’ve got things to tell you.” She squeezed back tears and then squeezed his hand. God, she wished he would squeeze it back. She wished…

“You can interrupt me now,” she reminded him, turning off the light, but there was no response. There hadn't been in days. 

“Please,” she finally whispered into the dark.

The only reply she received was from the medical equipment, beeps and whirs which, eventually, put her to sleep. 

But she never let go of his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.
> 
> Just kidding, the world doesn't need any more sadness right now. Continued in the next chapter.


	14. Modern AU + Fake Marriage Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the previous chapter.

The first thing Jack became aware of, as he slowly regained consciousness, was a sound. Rhythmic. Mechanical. Loud. 

The second thing he became aware of was pain. Possibly from a gunshot?

The third thing was that there wasn’t _enough_ pain. Definitely from the drugs. 

And the fourth thing was that he appeared to be connected to a sleeping Phryne Fisher. 

Somehow that last bit made the least amount of sense. 

He blinked, the light incredibly bright though he knew the room was probably actually quite dim. 

“Phryne,” he whispered, keeping his voice soft more out of physical restriction than gallantry. 

There was no response.

Jack frowned, or tried to at least; nothing really seemed to be working at the moment. He contemplated trying to shake her, but before he could make the attempt someone else appeared next to him. 

“Inspector Robinson, you’re awake!” This new person’s voice was half cheer, half surprise which he tried not to take personally. 

“Yes,” he croaked out. “How long…”

“Three days,” she told him. “We’d hoped you would wake up right after the surgery — which went very well by the way — but I guess you needed a bit more rest.” She smiled kindly at him. “Gave your wife a right fright though.”

Jack tried to frown again. “My wife?”

“Of course.” The nurse nodded at Phryne. “You were in a coma, Inspector, I don’t know the wife that wouldn’t worry.”

“Of course,” Jack agreed. There were those lovely drugs again.

“I’ll be right back,” the nurse assured him. “I’ll just get the doctor.”

Jack watched her go, too tired and hazy to do anything else. He tried to remember what had happened to land him here. There was the courtroom, the crown prosecutor announced a plea deal, Phryne had been… angry. And then… what? One of Foyle’s followers had been in the courtroom, and somehow the man had gotten a weapon, gotten away and… it got blurry after that. Jack was fairly certain that he’d chased Foyle, that there’d been an altercation. There were just flashes after that, images, feelings. Phryne. Somehow all his thoughts revolved around Phryne.

Didn’t they always?

Jack chuckled, or tried to.

A moment later the doctor entered, making a beeline for Jack’s bed.

“Inspector,” she greeted warmly, grabbing his chart and starting to note his particulars. “Welcome back.”

“Good to be back,” he whispered, though it was definitely louder than before.

As she took his pulse on his left wrist, she looked at where his right hand was still attached to a sleeping Phryne. “I’m going to need to move her, though I hate to. I don’t think she slept a wink from the moment they brought you two in until the middle of last night.”

“They brought us both in?” Jack asked, suddenly worried.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, stethoscope on his chest. “From what I hear she forced her way into the ambulance and then refused to leave.” The doctor made a small frown, then moved over to Phryne, shaking her gently. “Mrs. Robinson. Wake up, there’s someone here who’d like to say hello.”

Phryne stirred, slowly, waking from what Jack could see was a very deep sleep indeed. He could tell, though, the minute she realized he was awake; her whole face lit up, like the sun clearing a mountain.

“Jack,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his face. She stopped herself, though, and pulled back, suddenly self-conscious. 

The doctor misinterpreted why, and made to excuse herself.

“Well, Inspector, I’m going to put in orders for a battery of tests I’m sure you’ll hate, but for right now you seem to be healing very nicely, so I will give you a little time alone with your wife.”

She nodded at them, then left, closing the door as she did.

Jack looked over at Phryne. Ok so no amount of drugs on earth could explain that bit.

“Wife?” he asked.

He expected her to look embarrassed, or at least contrite. Instead she just shrugged. “They wanted me to leave. This seemed easier than cold clocking a string of orderlies.”

He chuckled, and, for the most part succeeded. Well that was nice. Then he turned grim. “Foyle?” he asked.

“Dead,” she told him flatly. 

He nodded. “How are you?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Jack, you’re awake. I’m wonderful.”

He didn’t know how to react to that, so he coughed. Phryne jumped up to get him some water, bringing over a small cup. He drank it gratefully — the cough may have been fake but the thirst was real — then wiggled just a little to try and sit up a bit. Phryne put the cup down to help him, her hand lingering on his back longer than was necessary. When he was more comfortable, she moved to sit back down, but as she did he reached over and took a chance and her hand. She looked down, then back up at him.

“Jack, do you remember… anything? From when you were unconscious?”

“Not really,” he told her. “Just a feeling… Why? Did something memorable happen?”

She shrugged, more of an affectation this time. “Well I told you I loved you. And that I wanted to be with you. That… that could be considered memorable.”

Jack stared at her for a moment. “Oh,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s all I get? _Oh?_ ”

“Oh,” he repeated. “That... that would explain the feeling.”

“And what feeling was that?” she asked, a little annoyed now.

“Happiness,” he told her. “I remember feeling happy.”

The eyebrow came down, and her smile returned. “Oh.”

And then it was time for Jack’s face to resemble the sun rising in the east.

She leaned down, and gave him the softest of kisses. “Oh,” she repeated, her face so close to his he could count the freckles on her nose. 

He could happily spend a lifetime counting the freckles on her nose.

They stayed that way, that close, for a while, and would have stayed that way even longer, but Jack started to fade, a combination of the drugs and the injury. Phryne noticed the change and pulled back, sitting in the chair, her hand in his. 

“You can rest, Jack,” she assured him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jack nodded, successfully this time, and closed his eyes.

“Phryne?” he asked, starting to drift off. “Is it possible… did you apologize when I was asleep?”

“Apologize? You must have been hallucinating, darling. Side effect of the trauma. Something to ask the doctor about.”

“Mmmmm,” he murmured, falling into a very happy sleep to the sounds of the beeps and whirs around him.

And she never let go of his hand. 


	15. Mister Gorey’s Murder Mysteries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE MOVIE COMES OUT ON ACORN TOMORROW!!!!!!!!
> 
> Ok, sorry, yeah, I'm totally cool and unquestionably chill about that. Absolutely. 100%.  
> (Narrator: _But she was not._ ) 
> 
> 😂
> 
> Anyway, in celebration of this momentous occasion, here is the poem I submitted to the 12 Days of Miss Fisher Challenge on Tumblr. It's in the style of Edward Gorey’s _The Gashlycrumb Tinies: or, After the Outing_.

**Mister Gorey’s Murder Mysteries**

A is for Andrews, whose death started us off

B is for Bert, who cares not for a toff

C is for Colgan, foreman of the factory

D is for Dot, her tea quite satisfactory

E is for Elsie, who made Jack a pasty

F is for Fisher comma Miss if you’re nasty

G is for Golden Guns, never used in a rush

H is for Hugh, with his permanent blush

I is for Investigations and looking forward to next time

J is for Jack comma Inspector when there’s crime

K is for Kitty, killed by a politician most shady

L is for Lin, who loved and lost his silver lady

M is for Murdoch, foiled by our hero

N is for Nonna Luisa, whose compassion was zero

O is for Oswald, fishes both one and two

P is for Prudence, who is disappointed in you

Q is for Queenscliff, a spot for murder _and_ play

R is for Roman Soldiers, not divorced in a day

S is for Saul, slain by the book he was holdin’

T is for The Johnsons, killed on their anniversary golden

U is for Undertakers, quite busy in Melbourne

V is for Véronique, who can now properly mourn

W is for Wardlow, whose doors closed far too soon

X is what marks the spot of a Spanish doubloon

Y is for Yes, I will come after you

Z is for the Zebra with the gammy leg at the zoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the opening titles of the PBS series _Mystery!_ were also based on Gorey's art, and I’m not yet over the “abbreviated” version they’re using these days. Kids, amiright?* Anyway he's fabulous.
> 
> *Sorry, I’m just, like, REALLY excited for tomorrow.


	16. Soulmates AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Arlome: Soulmates AU

“Excuse me, I think you’re my soulmate.”

“Your what?”

Jack coughs and feels the tips of his ears turning red. “My, uh, my soulmate.”

The stranger leans back in her chair and regards him with an expression that can best be described as wary, then wrinkles her nose. “Oh god, you're not one of those cultists, are you?”

Jack shakes his head, but it does nothing to dispel the blush. “No. I just saw the, uh,” he waves vaguely at her person, “mark on your wrist, and thought it was interesting. It matches mine, you see.”

She crosses her arms and offers him a wry smile. “Does it now?”

It does. The new angle is currently obscuring it, but he is sure they are an exact match. Which had surprised him, of course, when he’d caught sight of her in the library. Strange enough to see a woman in the reference section at this hour of night to begin with, but one with his exact soulmark? It was odd enough to pull him over despite his natural reticence.

She turns her wrist again and holds it up, an offering and a test. Jack looks around the library and decides it’s empty enough to humour her. He takes off his suit coat jacket and unbuttons both his waistcoat and the top of his shirt, pulling his tie to the side as he does. There, just above his heart, is an identical mark to hers: it looks vaguely like a sword flanked by two triangles, with enough swirls and loops to make it completely unique in the world.

Well, completely unique save one.

She nods at it, satisfied that it is a match for the one on her wrist, and he puts himself back to rights, still a little surprised that hers is so visible. It’s unusual for a soulmark to be so publicly placed, but not unheard of, and despite just meeting her he thinks the brashness of it rather matches the woman in question. You couldn’t remove them, of course, soulmarks were with you for life, but people with visible ones often altered them with specially calibrated tattoos, turning it into a complicated design instead of an easily recognizable symbol. That she hadn’t said she wanted people to see it. 

“So,” she begins, closing her book (something about forensic toxicology and he is even more intrigued) and watching him carefully, “you’re not planning to ask me to marry you, are you?”

Jack chuckles. “No,” he assures her. He isn’t one of those cultists after all. Jack, like most of the modern world, has moved past soulmarks, considers them a quaint reminder of a more primitive time. He’d never even looked for his match before, had married a woman with a mark that didn’t remind him at all of his own. A woman he’d loved. Truly. And while their marriage had not lasted, it had fallen victim to a more primitive experience, war, and not the antiquated notions of soulmates. 

“No,” he repeats. “But I wouldn’t mind a drink if you’re not busy. I never expected to meet my soulmark companion - it might be nice to share a pint.”

She considers his offer, and finally nods her agreement. “Make it a whisky and you have a deal.”

They do.

It turns out to be the first of many. 

He likes her. A lot. And while nothing romantic comes of it (she’s absolutely beautiful, but for some reason there’s no spark) there is no mistaking the connection, and it leads to something Jack values even more - genuine friendship. She likes the same whisky as him, barracks for the same team, chuckles at the same jokes. She is sardonic like him and a workaholic like him and a little lonely like him. It just… fits.

And then one day he meets her friend, who is none of those things, but who he can’t take his eyes off of all the same. 

They are at her birthday party, a fairly raucous affair, crowded with members of her Adventuresses’ Club.

“Mac,” he whispers during a rare moment alone with her during the festivities. “Who is that?”

Mac looks up, sees who he is indicating, and rolls her eyes.

“Trouble,” she says, taking a rather generous sip of her whisky.

Jack shoots her an imploring look and she sighs. “The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher. But I really think my first answer is more accurate.”

He cocks an eyebrow and she relents.

“Here.” Mac takes out a pen and writes down some information on her medical pad. “This is where you can reach her. All I ask is that you never tell me about any of it.” Jack opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “And before you go having a crisis of conscience, she already asked me about the ‘dish in the well-cut suit’ so she’ll be fine with you calling on her.”

He doesn’t.

Because while very good whisky might make him momentarily brave, he’s not the kind of man to just call on strange women because he finds them breathtaking and can’t get their laugh out of his head. He resigns himself to never seeing her again. 

And then… and then there is a crime scene. Banter and brilliance. Wild surmise and wicked smiles. His best friend’s oldest friend's newest enterprise.

The Honourable Miss Fisher, Lady Detective.

More crime scenes, more banter, more promise in both of their smiles. More smiles in general.

More eyerolls from Mac.

Phryne’s soulmark is also on her wrist, and he wonders if the two women were drawn to each other because of their respective placements. He comments on it once, the sinuous lines remind him of a snake, but he doesn’t mention that part.

“It’s an asp,” she tells him, then laughs at his surprised expression.

He looks at her again and realizes that she does indeed make hungry where most she satisfies.

It fits.

He falls. Hard. Doesn’t realize how hard until he’s standing next to a crashed automobile, and, seeing an unfamiliar and blank wrist peeking out from the covering, suddenly can’t breathe.

It is an ugly falling out, followed by a tentative truce, followed by a friendship patched back together piece by piece, but stronger this time, because now they know where the weak parts are and can work harder to reinforce them, together.

More crime scenes, more banter, more trouble saying goodnight at the end of the day.

Mac is basically a saint by now and reminds them of this often.

He waltzes her at The Grand and she catches him looking at her wrist as they finish.

“We’re not soulmates,” she reminds him, perhaps thinking him disappointed, and he nods.

“I do believe in soulmates,” he tells her slowly, expressing his somewhat complicated opinion on the matter as simply as he can. “But I don’t believe that they are predestined. I think they’re something you work for, work at. I believe you choose your soulmate. And who you give your heart to.”

They do not say goodnight at the end of that day.

Together in her bedroom, he slowly undresses her, and she returns the favour. She is faster, though, and when she pulls off his vest, she gasps in surprise. 

“What?” he asks, worried something is wrong.

She doesn’t speak, just points at his mark.

“Yes?” Jack is confused; true, she’s never seen his before, but everyone has one. 

Phryne responds by removing her camisole and it is Jack’s turn to gasp.

There, just under her heart, is an identical mark to his own.

He looks at her wrist, sees the now familiar lines that twist up in a coil, the lines he had always believed were her soulmark. “But I thought…”

She shakes her head, takes a deep breath. “After the War,” she begins slowly, “Mac and I tattooed the other’s mark on our wrists. We’d been through so much together by then and we decided… ” She points to the snake-like image on her skin. “This is Mac’s mark. The one she was born with.”

“Why?” he asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.

“Well, Jack, it’s as you say; you choose your soulmate.” She shakes her head again, smiling this time, and leans over to kiss him, deeply, full of promises. When she pulls back, her forehead is resting on his. “And who you give your heart to.”

Jack nods, smiling as well, and kisses the mark on her wrist and then the one on her heart with equal adoration. 

Taking his hand in her own, Phryne turns and leads him to the bed, looking at Jack’s mark as she does. “Mac never told me, you know. She never said a word.”

“No?” he asks.

“No,” she replies.

It’s the last time either of them say the word for a while - the rest of the night is simply filled with _yes_.

\---

Their marks match.

And it never matters to them at all.

They choose each other. 

\---------------------

[| Short Fic Ask |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/617388795296350208/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was great fun. I’ve never written a soulmates au before, and having sadly missed the [MFMM Year of Tropes](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MFMM2017), I was excited for the opportunity to try my hand at this one! Thank you, Arlome, for the prompt!


	17. Two Miserable People Meeting at a Wedding AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Movrings: Two Miserable People Meeting at a Wedding AU

“Excuse me, I think that’s mine.”

Phryne pointed in irritation at the plate on the table and, more specifically, the sugary confection upon it. It was bad enough that the caterers hadn’t provided enough cake for everyone, but what really irked her was that even after she’d managed to heroically snag the last slice, she’d still somehow wound up empty handed. 

Well, no, not “somehow.” 

She knew exactly how. 

The photographer had asked to take her photo and she’d put it down for _one second_ and this...this… THIEF had swooped in to steal it. Luckily she’d tracked him down before he’d managed to take his first filched bite.

“Sorry?”

He looked so confused at the accusation she graciously amended her assessment — this daft man had swooped in to steal it.

“That’s my cake,” she told him. “I put it down. You picked it up. I’d like it back now.” The man’s eyes darted between her and the dessert, a doleful expression on his handsome face, and her ire softened. Slightly.

“Uh, yes… yes of course.”

He started to hand it to her, but instead of taking the cake, Phryne took the seat next to him. With one hand resting on the very edge of the plate, she offered the stranger a smile.

“Ok, don’t take this the wrong way, but, quite frankly, you look miserable.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do I?”

“You do. You look miserable, and I _know_ I am, so I’ll make you a deal — saddest story gets the slice.”

His lips turned down in an expression she took to mean thoughtfulness, before he nodded. “Deal.” Then he made a little “go ahead” motion with his hand, before putting it on the other side of the plate in a mirror image of Phryne's. “Ladies first.”

“Well,” Phryne began, “I’m here with my assistant who _begged_ me to be her date so she wouldn’t have to go alone, who has since _abandoned_ me to flirt all night with some man she met at the coat check. Really at this point she’s dropped so many hints I’m surprised he hasn't made a move yet.” Phryne pointed across the room at Dot, who was currently deep in conversation with a handsome young man who was hanging on her every word. The gentleman next to her chuckled, and Phryne shot him a questioning look. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I just know him. And honestly he might not even have realized she’s flirting.”

“Well be that as it may, I’m now all alone at a wedding where I know absolutely no one and all the people I’ve tried to talk to have either been too drunk or too tedious to hold my attention.” She shot him a smile. “Present company excluded.” Phryne put a little more pressure on the plate, and started pulling it towards herself. “So you see I clearly win.”

“The bride is my ex-wife.”

Phryne’s surprise caused her to lose her grip on the plate and it skittered towards him.

“Oh.” Her eyes involuntarily found the happy couple, smiling at each other across the room, and then flew back to the man. “Oh. And you’re…” She lowered her voice. “You’re still in love with her?”

The man jerked his head up in surprise. “What? No. No. That’s not... “ He sighed. “The split was very amicable, and several years ago, and I’m happy to say we’ve remained good friends.” He waved around the room. “Hence the invitation tonight.”

“But…” Phryne supplied, helping him along.

“But…” He glanced over at a group of people two tables away who caught his look and glared back. “Some people need every story to have a villain and her family seem to have cast me in the role. It’s been a ... tense night.” He shrugged at her, a little awkwardly and not just a little sad. “So... I get cake.”

Phryne watched him, saw the hint of melancholy in his eyes with just a dash of guilt and wondered if maybe a small part of him had assigned himself that role as well, though her instincts screamed that if so he’d been woefully miscast.

Well... that wouldn’t do.

She put her hand back on the plate. “Absolutely not.” He looked up at her in surprise and she shook her head. “You’ve managed to remain friends with your former wife, who, if my assistant is to be believed, is a very lovely and sensible woman. That she asked you to be here today says quite a lot about you both. You’re doing fine. I, on the other hand, am all alone and missing an exhibit opening at the Gertrude.”

He raised an eyebrow at her assessment, but there was a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Well…” He pulled the plate closer to him again. “Possession is 9/10 of the law.”

She snorted. “Yes, well, I work with a lot of lawyers, and that’s bullshit. But I’m feeling magnanimous, so we can split it.”

He did that downturned lip thing again, which she realized now was a kind of smile, and nodded. “I think I could cope with that. But I draw the line at not knowing who I’m sharing with.”

She reached over with her hand. “Phryne Fisher.”

“Jack Robinson.”

“Well Jack… bon appétit.”

They both dug in with gusto, though one more than the other — Jack was in fact making some very evocative noises she didn’t think he even realized he was making. She hid a smile behind her fork.

“So… what do you do when you’re not being miserable at weddings?”

“For work or play?” he asked.

“Start with work and we’ll see how long the cake lasts.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m an Inspector with the Victoria Police Force.”

“Ah. Then you’re well aware that 9/10 of the law bit is bullshit.”

“I am but I wanted cake.”

Phryne laughed and took another bite. She was just about to ask what he did for play when he was engulfed from behind by a cloud of white.

“Jack! I’m so happy you’re here!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then looked over, took in the two forks on the one plate, and positively beamed. “And with a date! Oh that’s wonderful. I couldn’t believe it when you said you’d be attending alone.”

Phryne looked between the bride and Jack and noticed that the tips of his ears were turning red. Poor man. He really was having quite a night. Phryne watched him, could see how much he didn’t want to lie, but a man has his pride and Phryne thought this man might have actually earned his. She reached over to shake hands with the bride and save him.

“Phryne Fisher. Lovely to meet you. The ceremony was beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you so much! And that dress is gorgeous. I hope you plan to show it off on the dance floor later.” She leaned in conspiratorially towards Phryne, though of course Jack could hear. “I was a little worried Jack would be spending all his time in the game room tonight.”

Jack perked up at that. “There’s a game room?”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Yes. Michael insisted on it. For his friends mostly.” She indicated a door towards the back of the ballroom. “I tell you, I love my husband, but he is a _nerd_. Seems I have a type.” She winked and Phryne laughed. “Speaking of my husband, I should go find him. Wonderful meeting you, Phryne. Remember - dance floor!” 

At that, the bride moved off towards the dais, but Jack’s eyes turned towards the game room. Phryne took her last bite of cake — Jack’s was long gone — and pursed her lips.

“You know…” she said, drawing his attention back to her. “I always keep an emergency Cherry Ripe in my purse at these things. In case I don’t like the food.” He looked at her questioningly and she continued. “I could be persuaded to play you for for it.”

He smiled, a sort of lopsided thing she found oddly endearing, and gestured to the room. “You’re on.”

They spent the next hour and a half in there, playing Checkers, then Chess, then Battleship, and finally Connect 4.

The time flew, though, in good conversation and light-hearted ribbing and a growing and unusual ease neither was expecting. It went so fast, in fact, that Phryne was quite surprised when they heard the announcement for the last dance.

She looked at the door at the same time Jack did. He coughed. “Should we… only because Rosie seemed — ”

“Oh, yes. Yes of course. Lead the way.”

It was a slow song, of course, and at first Phryne felt a little awkward, though she didn’t know why; she danced with relative strangers all the time. But Jack held her so… it was an almost impossible combination of respectful and intimate and she found that she wanted more of it.

The song ended, but they didn’t part. Not right away. Not until the lights came up and then they did, quickly, like they’d been caught out.

Perhaps they had.

Jack gave her an embarrassed smile, then pointed questioningly towards the exit. He walked her back to the coat check, passing her assistant and that young man speaking very low and close in an alcove, then to the front door and out onto the sidewalk.

Jack cleared his throat. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, I’m fine. And I’ll be needing to go in to collect my assistant shortly anyway, though I doubt she’ll thank me for it.” She glanced up at Jack, a flirtatious look in her eye.

“Would you like my number?” she asked him. “Just in case you ever need a date to one of these things again?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Well I only have the one ex-wife.”

“I see.” Phryne was a little surprised she’d misread that one, but it happened. Pity, though… she would have liked to hear those cake noises in a different context.

Jack continued. “But I wouldn’t mind a battleship rematch. I’m fairly certain you were cheating at the end there.” She gave a little indignant huff and he laughed, then unlocked his mobile and handed it to her.

Phryne put in her number and handed it back to him, but as she did, Jack took her hand and kissed the back of it in goodbye. It was incredibly dorky and eminently adorable and Phryne laughed in delighted surprise at the move. He gave her a little self-deprecating smile (and when had she started cataloguing his smiles?) then started walking down the street. He was several yards away when she remembered.

“Oh! Don’t you want to collect?”

He stopped and turned around. “Collect what?”

“The candy bar. By my count, you won.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like Cherry Ripes.”

She crossed her arms and smirked at him. “Then why play?”

Jack grinned at her — really grinned, and she was _definitely_ starting to catalog his smiles — and spread his arms wide on the sidewalk. “Phryne, I won the minute you decided to sit next to me. The rest was just… the icing on the stolen cake.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t stop her own grin from bursting forth. “That is a terrible pun!” she shouted after him, as he continued walking backwards down the sidewalk. “And I want my number back!”

“Can’t hear you!” he shouted back, still grinning.

Phryne narrowed her eyes, but the grin would not abate, which somewhat lessened the effect. It was hard to believe, standing on the sidewalk and feeling the way she felt now, that she had been so miserable just a few hours ago. 

She really was looking forward to their rematch.

She was going to absolutely wallop him in Battleship.

\---------------------

[| Short Fic Ask |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/617388795296350208/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short)


	18. High School Popular Kid/Nerd AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Fire_Sign: High School Popular Kid/Nerd AU

They had started school within the same week, mid-year as Year 12s, which is slightly unusual, but not unheard of. Their paths veer pretty quickly after that though.

She is gorgeous and smart and charming and kind, which is a combination that makes her popular with just about everyone. He is intelligent and quiet and notices simply everything, which doesn’t make him unpopular, per se, but does quickly establish him as a nerd. Which is cool in its own way, but not in her way, so they don’t see each other much. He notices her, of course, because he notices simply everything. And she definitely sees him, because he is equal parts enigma and attractive, and it is a small, private school besides, where everyone kind of knows everyone anyway. But they really don’t have much in common and they definitely don’t travel in the same circles.

They both ask a lot of questions though. A lot of questions.

So many, in fact, that they’re each quickly recruited for the school’s newspaper. That’s where they meet for the first time in person, in the third floor office that is home to _The Warleigh Warbler_.

There is a spark, immediately, unexpected and unwanted by either for obvious reasons, and so they mumble their hellos and then quickly retreat to their corners — hers, a large and boisterous gaggle of girls, and his, his laptop.

They work like ships in the night, specifically avoiding each other until one night, when Phryne is in the newspaper office alone, very, very late. The office is quiet and dark and there’s no reason for Jack to think she or anyone is in there, which is the only reason he lets down his guard.

He is on his mobile as he enters, speaking quietly but she has excellent hearing and catches every word.

“Yes, sir, I’m trying, but I need a warrant for that and it hasn’t come in…. No, apparently they were late issuing the preservation notice to the telco company…. Yes, I’ll keep working on it… Thank you, sir. I’ll be in touch soon.”

He ends the call and turns on the light and sees her and then the fluorescent bulbs might as well be headlights because he is a deer in them.

She stares at him, mouth agape, and he stammers for a moment before recovering. Poorly. 

“Research,” he mutters. “For an assignment in government.”

“Liar,” she accuses. “I’m in that class too, and we have no such assignment.”

“Rubbish. I’m doing it for extra credit.”

“Oh, sure, and they regularly teach preservation notice in government class.”

“I’ll have you know Mr. Johnson is a big proponent of civil liberties and is likely just — wait a minute, how do you know what it is?”

She looks flustered for the first time since he’s known her. “I’m… precocious?” Her voice goes up at the end, like a neon sign flashing that she is stretching the truth to the point that it’s now risking a fracture.

They stare at each other for a full thirty seconds before their respective light bulbs go off.

“You’re undercover!” they shout simultaneously, eyes narrowed, egos bruised.

(It is a little embarrassing that neither caught on to the other earlier.)

They call a tentative truce, get cans of Coke from the vending machine and sit up in the newspaper office for several hours after that, swapping stories. He’s a recent graduate of the police academy, undercover here on his first big assignment. She’s a junior reporter for the _Herald Sun_ also on hers. They’re both investigating the same case — someone on the faculty is using the school to launder money for some very nasty people and they’re both determined to figure out who.

By their third can, they decide to work together.

The other students take notice of course, the most popular girl in school hanging out with the shy, quiet guy.

Though it makes a certain amount of sense. 

(It makes an awful lot of sense.)

They’re making progress and flirting and building a case and flirting. There is a lot of flirting. But they don’t take it any further than suggestive banter over Shakespeare assignments and longing looks over bunsen burners; it's a weird situation and neither wants to make it weirder.

And then one afternoon it gets much, much weirder.

They’ve broken into the records room during an all staff meeting, in search of some important paperwork, when the door they had definitely locked behind them opens and in walks Jane Ross.

Phryne and Jack stare at her for a moment, wheels turning as they try to come up with a believable excuse, but Jane doesn’t give them the chance.

“You almost done?” she asks. “Find what you need?”

“Need?” Jack asks, voice cracking a little. He tells himself it’s for the character.

“For your case,” Jane clarifies. “You’re a copper, right?”

She asks it as a question, but she’s just being polite.

“What?” he sputters. “I’m not a… why would you… I’m a _student_. Like you.”

“Oh yes.” Jane rolls her eyes. “'How do you do, fellow kids?”

Jack is low-key panicking, but Phryne, who knows Jane much better, just bursts out laughing.

“How did you know?” she asks.

“Really?” Jane looks between them incredulously. “We _all_ know.” She gestures to Phryne. “You could pass on your own, I guess, but he looks 40.”

“40!” Jack has bypassed panicking and is now well on his way to pissed. “I’m 23!”

“Whatever, grandpa. I just came to let you know the meeting is ending and you should get out soon.” She turns to leave, but Phryne calls after her.

“You said everyone knows?”

Jane nods.

“The teachers too?”

“Oh no,” Jane shakes her head. “Just the students. It’s like… it’s like that reporter we learned about. Nellie… something or other. Oh Nellie Bly! You know, when she went undercover at the Women's Asylum, and all the patients knew she was faking but the staff had no clue.”

“You’re the patients?” Jack asks skeptically.

“We’re the ones who don’t just buy whatever we’re sold,” she clarifies. “And since it was clear you were investigating the teachers, we figured you were probably here to help.” She opens the door and steps into the hall, calling over her shoulder as she does. “Oh, and for what it’s worth, whatever you’re investigating, my money’s on Mr Merton or Ms Gay — they’re both super shady.”

Then she leaves, both the room and the two adults in her wake.

Still a little stunned herself, but recovering quickly, Phryne looks over at Jack. “Are you ok?” This is his first big case and she’s worried about how he’s taking such a spectacular snag in his undercover assignment.

“No,” he admits. “Phryne… do I really look 40?”

She stifles a smile. “If anything you look distinguished and I’m sure working with me has aged you in any case.” He just grunts and she shakes her head fondly, standing up and making her way over to the filing cabinets. 

He makes no move to join her, though, so she glances over her shoulder at him. “Hurry up and help me, Jack. The sooner we close this, the sooner you can ask me out without it being a terrible idea.”

He’s still reeling, but he has the nerve to smirk at her all the same. “Pretty sure it’s still a terrible idea, but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

“Good,” she says, already back to work, but grinning all the same.

Jack sighs and begins his search. “I can’t believe we got busted by a 17-year-old,” he mutters.

“She’s 14,” Phryne tells him.

“What???”

\---

They close the case two days later.

It is Mr Merton AND Ms Gay.

Of course it is.

\---------------------

[| Short Fic Ask |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/617388795296350208/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Know your audience_ , she cackled manically to herself while fulfilling Fire_Sign’s prompt. 😂


	19. Partners in Crime AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from pixiehood: Partners in Crime AU

The party was exclusive, extravagant, and already in full swing, with lights, sounds, and the occasional party guest spilling out onto the sidewalk of the sprawling downtown estate.

Across the street, sat in an innocuous and unmarked van, Jack watched and waited for her signal.

It didn’t take long.

A moment later, his comm crackled to life and he sat up a little straighter in front of his monitors at the sound of her voice in his ear. 

She was in.

“Excellent work, Jack, not one active alarm along my route.”

“No names over comms,” he reminded her.

“Yes, yes,” she sighed. “Code names only, ludicrously formal though they may be. This isn’t my first rodeo.” Jack rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable follow up meant to fluster him. “ _That_ was with Ronaldo.”

And there it was.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Fisher. Are you past the guard yet?”

“Not yet. Hold please.”

Jack tapped his fingers on his knee. She was fine, would be fine, was always fine. But he couldn’t help being a little nervous every time anyway.

The sound of her giggles filled his ears. Oh, so she was going for drunk and lost. A classic.

“Excuse me, I seem to have gotten turned around. Is this the ladies’ room?”

“This floor is off limits, ma'am, please return to the party.”

“I just need it for a — oh, that’s all muscle there, isn’t it?” Phryne giggled again, then her voice turned breathy. “Are you sure the party can’t be right here?”

The guard’s voice remained surprisingly flat. “Ma'am, I’m really going to have to ask — ”

_WHACK_

Jack jumped in his seat at the sound of Phryne’s knee colliding with the man’s groin. 

From seduction to judo in three seconds flat; if THAT didn’t sum her up he didn’t know what did.

Jack heard a few more hits, followed by silence.

“Past the guard,” she informed him cheerfully.

“Yes, I heard,” he replied. “Poor fellow. I didn’t realize anyone was immune to your charms. We should have him studied for science.”

“It happens.” He could almost hear her elegant shrug. “Brain injuries are common with hired goons. Plus, he had it coming — he called me ma'am. Twice!”

Jack bit back a laugh and carried on as professionally as he could. “First lock?” he asked. 

“Electronic keypad. I’m holding the reader up to it now — do your magic, Jack.”

“No names over comms,” he reminded her, fingers flying across the keys as he broke the lock from across the street. 

“Thank you, darling. Laser grid off?”

“Lasers off, camera looped,” he confirmed. “You’re all clear to the last door.”

“How’s our party crasher?” she asked conversationally as she made her way down the hall and to their prize.

“Still on my scope. I cleared her route as well, obvious though it was: she came in through the window while you were tangoing with security.”

“ _In_ through the window? That sounds exhausting.”

“Rookies,” he lamented mildly. “I have her on the monitor now. She’s wearing some kind of extravagant polka dot dress, no doubt to blend in with the party for her escape, and trying to figure out how to dismantle the display case the coins are kept in without setting off the alarm.”

“Polka dots? With this crowd? Rookie indeed,” Phryne tsked sympathetically.

“How did you find out about her anyway?”

“She went to the Red Raggers for equipment and they told me. Said it seemed like a job right up our alley. Oh! Perhaps we should have asked them along.”

“Uh, no thanks. This job hardly required a small and unbearably surly army, Miss Fisher.”

“They’re never surly with me,” she teased him.

“Yes, I am aware it’s personal, thank you. Are you at the door yet?”

“Just arrived, Jack.”

“No names over — ”

“Yes, yes, I know. Picking the lock now.” He heard her expertly moving her tools in the tumbler, a reassuringly familiar sound by now. “You know, I was just thinking...”

“Well that never bodes well for me.”

“Don’t be like that, darling; this is personal, not professional.”

“Equally dangerous.”

“Mmmmm,” she agreed with a smile he could hear in her voice. “Anyway, I was wondering… do we really need to return the Columbian emeralds right away?”

“They belong in a museum, Miss Fisher.”

“Of course. And we’ll return them, absolutely. It’s just… I was thinking I might model them for you first.”

“Were you then?” With no one else in the van, Jack didn’t even try to hide his smile at the idea.

“Oh yes. And do you know what they go best with?”

“Justice?”

“My green Jimmy Choos and a smile.”

The image was too much, and Jack groaned.

“Phryne….”

“No names over comms, Inspector,” she whispered gleefully just as the last tumbler slid into place. “And I’m in.”

Jack bit back a curse at being played so thoroughly and checked his monitors instead. The security feed from the mansion was hardly HD quality, but he could plainly see the young woman who was already in the residence’s antiquities room jump when Phryne entered. 

“Hello!” Phryne greeted brightly.

“Stand back!” the young woman cried. “I have a weapon!”

“You have a spanner, dear. Which could be a weapon, but you’re holding it all wrong to do any real damage to anything except a lug nut.”

The woman took a step away from the display case and swiveled her head nervously between the open door and the window she’d come in through. Finally she turned back to Phryne, shoulders set firmly.

“Before you take another step, you should know — Gerald McNaster stole this Spanish doubloon from the people of Peru!”

“Of course he did. That’s why we’re here to help you get it back to them.”

“You’re… I’m sorry, I’m confused. Who are you?”

“Darling... we’re the calvary.”

“We?”

“My partner and I. He’s in the van.”

“Oh. I… I’m confused.”

“That’s understandable, but we’re a bit pressed for time so why don’t I explain on the way?”

“Oh. Ok. My name is — ”

“Only code names over comms, dear, the Inspector is ever so strict about that, provided he’s not incredibly turned on.”

“Miss Fisher!”

Phryne winked and blew a kiss to the security camera before turning back to the woman. “Anyway, I love your dress. Let’s call you Dottie.”

“... ok.”

“Excellent! Inspector, fire up the van, we’ll be coming in hot.”

“As you wish, Miss Fisher. Be careful.”

“I always am.”

Dottie looked confused. Jack didn’t blame her.

“How are we leaving?” she asked.

Phryne took the spanner out of Dottie’s hand and gestured with it to the outer wall. “Out the window. Terrible way in, wonderful way out. I assume your rigging is still attached?”

The woman nodded.

“Perfect.”

“But the rope’s too short for both of us,” Dottie noted. “What will we land on?”

“The van of course. Shall we?”

Jack heard the sound of breaking glass, followed by sirens — so much for disengaging the display case’s alarm — and started the engine, already moving into place under the window.

A soft thud a moment later was followed by her head poking into the driver’s side window.

“Hello Jack!” she grinned at him.

“Hello Phryne,” he replied, stealing a quick kiss as he did — he was a thief after all. 

The two women climbed down and into the van, and Jack sped off into the night, his mind on Columbian emeralds, Jimmy Choos and smiles.


	20. Second Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Particularfavorite and the prompt: Jack helps someone else through their divorce.

It wasn’t hard to recognize the signs, if you’d been there yourself.

And lord knows Jack had been there.

And now, it seemed, so was his newly appointed Sergeant.

Extra shifts, extra surly, extra sad when he didn’t think anyone was looking.

And, Collins aside, while Jack didn’t make a habit of getting involved in the lives of his subordinates, he recognized something else in the young man that made him take an interest — a little bit of himself.

“Marks!” he called suddenly from his office, making the man in question jump.

Jack bit back a smile at that; couldn’t have the kids getting too comfortable. He turned and walked back to his desk, shifting his laptop and mobile to the side and watching as Sergeant Marks pulled down his jacket and hightailed it into his Inspector’s office. 

“Sir,” he greeted from just inside the door, closing it behind him to keep out the February heat. Jack nodded at the empty visitor’s chair in front of him and Marks took a seat.

Jack regarded him intently from across the desk, before leaning back in his seat and steepling his fingers in front of him.

“Is everything alright, Sergeant?” he asked finally, his tone light enough to be considered friendly, but firm enough to ensure the lad answered.

“Of course,” Marks replied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Nothing... going on?”

Marks looked at him a bit suspiciously. “Sir, is this about something in particular? Have any of the officers been — ”

“I don’t need any other officers to tell me what’s happening in my own station, Marks. You’ve been a right bear of late. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except you’re always _here_.”

Marks shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I need the extra cash.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t explain why you always want the third shift.”

“I like working through dinner,” Marks defended mulishly.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You forget, I think, that I’m a detective, Sergeant. But to be honest, even a recruit could work out you don’t want to be home.”

Marks tensed but did not reply and Jack leaned forward, softening his tone as he did. “Marks, this is based a little on intuition, but mostly on experience; would I be correct in assuming there’s trouble on the homefront?”

The young sergeant squared his shoulders and stared back at Jack. “Sir, with all due respect, that’s none of your business.”

Jack tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You’re absolutely right. Except for when you bring it into my station.” Marks opened his mouth to protest, but Jack held up a hand to silence him. “So I’ll just leave it at this — I’ve been there. And if you need someone to… bounce ideas off of, preferably over a pint, I’m here. But in the meantime, stop snapping at the constables and even out the shift schedule. Dismissed.”

Marks stood and sulked over to the door. 

And if he pulled it closed behind him a little harder than necessary, well, Jack was prepared to let it go this time.

\---------------------

Weeks went by, and while Marks’ temperament did not improve, he was definitely taking it out on the constables less so Jack considered their talk a victory. In fact, he’d forgotten all about his offer to be a friendly ear until about two months later when Marks and he were both finishing up at the same time. Jack had nodded a goodbye and turned to walk to his car, when he heard Marks cough behind him.

“Care for a pint, Inspector?”

Jack turned back and shrugged. “Why not?”

By unspoken agreement they passed the first pub they came to, popular with the City South staff after shift, and instead entered a quieter taproom a block over. They ordered a pint each and made their way to a table in the back. Jack took a sip of his drink, more bitter than he’d wanted but it was what was on tap, and waited for Marks to speak. After several long minutes of silence, he finally did.

“What you said, a few weeks ago… you weren’t wrong.”

“No,” Jack agreed, but did not comment further.

“No. Yeah. There’s… my wife and I aren’t really getting along. Haven’t been. For a while.”

“How long have you been married?” Jack asked.

“Ten years.” Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise and Marks gave him a small smile. “Yeah, we got married pretty young.”

“And how long have…” Jack waved a hand vaguely in the air.

“About two years?” Marks guessed. “Maybe, maybe more? I dunno, I was so intent on getting this promotion and… anyway a while.”

“I see.” Jack took another sip of his beer. “Would it be overstepping to suggest couples counseling?”

Marks shook his head. “Not overstepping but… well we’ve been going.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be helping.”

Jack nodded again. “Well that’s good, though, shows you’re both committed to working it out.”

Marks grunted, though whether he was agreeing with or rejecting Jack’s assumption he wasn’t sure.

Jack watched Marks carefully as the younger man fiddled with a coaster. “May I ask… why did you take me up on my offer?”

Marks sighed but didn’t look up from the table. “All my mates are either still single or happily married. I’m the only one it feels like who… anyway you said you’d been there and I guess I was hoping… I was hoping you could tell me how you fixed things.” 

And now it was Jack’s turn to shake his head. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… I’m divorced.”

Marks looked at him in surprise. “Oh, oh I’m sorry, I thought — ”

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m not. It was the right decision for us.” Marks looked unbearably sad at that and Jack leaned forward to punctuate his next words. “For us. Doesn’t mean anything for you.”

“No,” Marks replied, and again Jack couldn't tell whether he was agreeing with or rejecting his assumption.

They just drank their beers after that and neither ordered another round.

\---------------------

Several more months passed after that night. Jack kept a slightly closer eye on Marks than he did on his other officers, but he honestly couldn’t tell if things were improving for the younger man or not; his Sergeant was playing it much closer to the vest these days. In fact, Marks was so hard to read that when he asked Jack to go out for another drink after work, it took him completely by surprise.

Ten minutes after shift they again found themselves in the same quiet booth as they had so many weeks before. It was colder now though — Jack supposed winter would do that.

There was no preamble this time; Marks cut right to the chase.

“We’ve stopped going to counseling. It doesn’t… it just seems to make things worse.”

“I see.”

“And Jaime… Jaime moved out. She’s staying with some friends in Richmond.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly; he really wished he’d been wrong about seeing himself in the young man.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Are you… is this just a trial separation or have you talked about divorce?”

Marks’ whole body tensed up at that. “We can’t. _I_ can’t.”

“Why?” Jack asked honestly.

“I… I made a commitment, sir.”

So very, very much of himself sitting right across the table.

“You did,” Jack agreed. “But to what?”

“Excuse me?”

“The institution or the person?”

“The person of course. The — my wife.”

“Then perhaps it’s time to consider whether that commitment is to marriage to her, or what’s best for her. What’s best for you both.”

Marks frowned but did not disagree, and Jack didn’t push. 

But they each had a second pint that night.

\---------------------

They were driving back from a crime scene, the August night air slightly less freezing than it had been a month previously, when Marks said, out of nowhere. “I feel like a coward.”

Jack frowned, pulled the vehicle over and parked on the side of the road. “Why?”

“I can’t… I can’t do it. I keep looking up the legal proceedings necessary and then shutting my browser before I get to the end.” He stared ahead as he said it, eyes never leaving the windshield and the world beyond. “How did you…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Jack didn’t need him to.

“I didn’t,” Jack replied, also staring ahead. “My former… my former wife was the brave one.” He huffed out a humourless laugh. “I would have stayed in that marriage forever, made us both miserable until one of us died. She’s the one who demanded more from life.” He smiled, just a little. “I thank her for it every time I see her.”

Marks turned at that, looking at Jack in surprise. “You still see her?”

“On occasion. We’re… we’re friends. Not… well we don’t holiday together or anything, but we’ve been known to spend whole evenings together without any dishes being hurled or martinis thrown in faces.”

Marks rolled his eyes, but for the first time since he’d spoken he didn’t seem dejected.

“Something to hope for I guess,” he mumbled.

“Indeed,” Jack agreed, putting on his turn signal and pulling back into traffic.

\---------------------

“Is that all, Sergeant?” Jack asked after Marks had briefed him on the day’s activities. 

“Yes, sir.” He began to turn to leave, but stopped himself. “Except, well, I just wanted to… it’s done. Sir. My… it’s done. We finalized the paperwork yesterday.”

Jack nodded somberly. “Do you want to go for a pint?” he asked.

“No, sir. I plan to get far more pissed tonight than my superior officer ought to ever see me.” 

“Fair enough,” Jack replied.

“But… but thank you.” Marks turned then and left without another word.

\---------------------

October was too bloody wet. 

Jack was cursing the downpour, not looking where he was going, when he bumped, literally, into his Sergeant in the foyer, leaving the French restaurant just as Jack was going in.

“Are you alright, sir?” the young man asked, concerned.

Jack frowned, shaking off his overcoat; he might be older than the lad but he was hardly frail.

“Yes, yes fine.” He looked up, intending to remind him of that fact, but was stopped by the look on the other man’s face. 

He looked… happy.

“Are _you_ alright?” Jack asked, not quite knowing how to interpret this new mood.

“What? Oh...yes. Yes. Fine. I, uh, I just had dinner with my ex-wife. Hashing out some final divvying up of assets.”

“And that makes you happy?”

“No. Well, yes. No… it’s complicated.” Marks looked back into the restaurant for a moment. “It’s just… Jaime smiled. At dinner. And so did I. It’s been a while, you know, since we smiled around each other. It was nice.” He got quiet for a moment, as the two men moved to the side to let a group of women move past them. “I used to laugh, you know. A lot. With Jaime. But I don’t think we’ve found the same things funny in years.” He looked wistfully back into the restaurant. “I’d like to laugh again someday.”

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise at the man’s words, until he took a closer look at him and realized Marks appeared to be both happy _and_ sloshed. 

Ah.

“I’m sure you will,” he assured his slightly inebriated colleague with a slightly awkward pat to the back.

“Maybe.” Marks didn’t seem so sure. And he suddenly stopped looking happy.

“Trust me,” Jack said, trying to articulate what he wished he’d known in those early, terrible days. “It’s going to hurt for a while, but that’s ok. Those are… those are growing pains. Let yourself grow. You and your former wife, you’ve given each other a gift. A second chance to be yourselves. And you’ll be amazed what you can become when you stop trying to be something you’re not.”

Marks nodded slowly, and Jack couldn't tell whether it was comprehension or the wine, but for now he would take it. 

Jack was about to make sure the young man was calling a cab when Marks looked over his shoulder at something or someone in the restaurant. Jack turned and followed his eyes, his lips quirking up in a smile seemingly of their own accord.

A sleek black bob and a brilliant smile greeted him as she waved her arms at the two men and gestured for them to come over.

“Who… who is that?” Marks asked.

Jack shook his head, but the smile stayed in place. “That… that is what happens when you find someone you want to laugh with again.” She crossed her legs and for just a second a silver dagger in her garter gleamed bright before it was obscured again by her dress. Jack shook his head once more. “And trouble. That’s also trouble.”

Marks looked confused again, so Jack took the liberty of hailing him a cab and pouring him into it before making his way back into the restaurant.

He reached her table just as the waiter was serving the appetizer. 

“You’re late,” she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him, though there was no true irritation in it.

“Clearly,” he said as he sat down, gesturing at the table as he did. “The snails beat me here.”

She stared at him for a moment before snorting out loud with laughter. “That’s terrible,” she complained, but she didn’t stop laughing, Jack following right behind, as was so often the case with them.

Yes the joke was terrible. But second chances… second chances were a gift.


	21. October Prompt #1: Lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from Arlome.

Phryne was used to gossip, of course, so she barely even registered the sound of whispers anymore. But something about these particular murmurs — thoughtful and slightly reverent and so not at all what she was used to in London society — made her turn to look this time as she handed the menu back to the waiter.

A man, about forty years of age with a friendly face, was glancing furtively at Phryne’s table and discussing something in low tones with his companion even as they prepared to leave the restaurant. Finally, after a bit of back and forth, he left her to the coat check and approached.

“Jackie O?” he asked in a somewhat uncertain voice. “Is that really you?”

Jack sat up, ramrod straight, at the question, slowly turning his head in disbelief. “Brian Murphy?” 

At Jack’s reply the other man’s face lit up into an enormous grin. “It _is_ you!” he declared, a hit of an Irish lilt coming through this time. Jack stood and was immediately enveloped into a hug, attracting the attention of the other diners in the restaurant.

“What the hell are you doing in London?” Brian asked when he finally released Jack.

“That,” Jack began, “is a somewhat long story.”

Brian laughed, a great booming sound. “I suppose it must be. Unfortunately we’re already very late.” Brian nodded in the direction of his date. “But are you free tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Jack agreed. He wrote down his details in the little notebook he always kept with him and then handed the paper over to Brian who clapped Jack on the back once more before bidding Phryne a goodnight and departing with his companion.

To Phryne’s credit she waited until she’d had her first sip of wine to ask.

“Jackie O?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “It was foolish to think you’d leave that alone, wasn’t it?”

“It really was,” Phryne agreed as she grinned into her glass. “Besides I thought I was the only one who called you Jackie _oh_.”

Jack glared at her, but there was no real bite in it. “It was during the war, as I am sure you already suspect. Lt. Murphy and I were assigned to the same unit for a time. And before you ask, “ he held up a hand to stop her, “no, I can’t talk about it.”

Phryne nodded and waved her hand for him to continue.

“They had… had a bit of trouble before I arrived. Suffered some hard losses. But once I joined things seemed to turn around. Coincidence, of course, but Brian is a bit… superstitious. So he decided I was their lucky charm. And also that, because of my name, I must be,” Jack sighed, “warding off evil spirits.” He closed his eyes for the next part but Phryne was already ahead of him and let loose a great cackle as she placed the final piece of the puzzle.

“Oh darling… you were Jackie-o'-lantern!”

Jack opened his eyes, shaking his head at her glee. “Yes. The practice is quite common in Ireland, you know. You set them out on windowsills to keep harmful spirits out of one's home. It was mostly just a silly joke but the name stuck.”

“Well, I have to say, Jack… that is a gourd story.”

Jack sighed into his wine as Phryne began a running list in her head of puns to tease him with over dinner, her evening’s entertainment now nicely decided.

She’d have to buy this Lt. Murphy a very nice drink tomorrow night.

\---------------------

It shouldn’t have surprised him, of course. Seeing Brian after so long, thinking about that time… the nightmares were practically guaranteed. Still, he was shaken when he woke in a cold sweat, heart pounding, the images and sounds fading far too slowly.

Phryne was already awake, watching him carefully. He shook his head, indicating he was alright, he was back, and she carefully moved to stroke his arm. Jack took a few deep breaths, before laying back down, even though he knew sleep would elude him now for quite some time.

They didn’t speak, they rarely did after one of them woke up this way, but she held him and he let her. Sometime later though, Jack was surprised to feel Phryne slip from his arms. He assumed she needed the facilities, but instead she moved over to the small writing desk that sat in their hotel room. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but when she returned she slid back into her place by his side.

“Phryne?” he questioned softly, and in response she held up her left hand which he could make out well in the light from the moon. There, on the pad of her index finger, she’d drawn a small, crude face. 

“I’m afraid it’s not a root vegetable,” she excused and he snorted despite himself, “but it will keep you safe tonight. No more evil spirits, Jack.” She moved her hand over his heart and spoke with a fiercely protective certitude. “I won’t let them in.”

And for some reason he believed her.

Jack blinked against sudden tears that he had not been expecting and tried to clear his throat. “You are,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion, “my lucky charm.”

She didn’t otherwise respond, but her small, strong hand kept its silent vigil against the past all the same.

And then, to his complete surprise, Jack fell back asleep.

\---------------------

[| October Prompts |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/631540660897497088/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: first wine, whispers, and Jack-o-lanterns.


	22. October Prompt #2: Sweater Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anonymous: sweater weather.

His mother, in nod to an American novel she loved, had called it sweater weather and so that was what Jack always called it as well. That time of year when things start to get crisp and cool, but not so frigid that it gets into your bones. Just cold enough to feel the snap, but mild enough to be conquered with a jumper.

Sweater weather.

Jack loved sweater weather. Oh it didn’t do his garden any favors, but Jack understood cycles and growth and could appreciate the need for a good rest. And besides, there was just so much to appreciate with sweater weather.

Reading by a fire. The welcome exertion of a long bicycle ride against the bracing wind. Hot toddies and warm soups and cool sheets at the end of the day.

And now that he was in a relationship with Phryne Fisher, he had one more reason to love sweater weather: Phryne Fisher in a sweater.

Specifically his sweater. Specifically nothing else.

It was... beguiling. The sweaters made her legs look impossibly long and the sight of her in his clothes never failed to besot him.

She had a habit of grabbing it off the floor in the mornings to join him in the kitchen for tea and he had a habit of then ignoring the tea and taking her right back to bed.

He suspected she knew this and that’s why she did it.

(He didn’t really care.)

It was… exhilarating, for reasons even beyond the obvious, as Jack noted to himself one morning, drawing lazy circles against her skin, the twice discarded garment back on the floor. Exciting, he thought, to find new joy in the things you already cherished and new reasons to cherish what you already had.

Cycles and growth.

So, yes, thirty odd years after he had first heard the term, Jack was finding new reasons to love sweater weather.

He just wouldn’t mention this part to his mother. 

\---------------------

[| October Prompts |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/631540660897497088/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling)


	23. October Prompt #3: Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from Anonymous: "apple scent" and "full of colors"

There had been times, when she was living on the streets or unsuccessfully managing her mother, when Jane hadn’t really seen the point of it all. Life was hard and painful and she accepted those terms because she was a survivor but nevertheless she couldn’t see the point.

But today...

Today they were headed to The Dandenongs to see the autumn leaves, Miss Phryne driving too fast as always and Doctor MacMillan seated beside her somehow asleep. Jane couldn’t doze though, even if she’d wanted to, which she absolutely did not. She was overcome, truly, by the sight of gum trees turning to Ash and Maple and Liquid Amber before her eyes in a riot of color like she’d never seen before.

Jane sat in the back, an apple cake clutched in her hands for safe keeping, her mother’s recipe meticulously recreated by Dot and Mr Butler. She’d spent the ride equally watching the scenery and her mother, who was next to her and having a good day, something Jane had prayed and prayed and prayed for ever since Miss Phryne had arranged this little trip.

She looked, young, her mother. Or, maybe not young, but certainly unencumbered and so Jane felt unencumbered as well. She grinned with delight and held on tighter to the cake, even though there was a whole picnic in the boot.

The road curved suddenly and Phryne whipped around it with ease, causing Anna to clutch her hat and let out a surprised yelp. Mac just snored louder and Phryne turned her head to give Jane a quick wink before setting her attention back to the road.

And Jane couldn’t help it; she laughed, maybe a little younger today herself.

Yes, life was hard and painful and brief. And tomorrow her mother might have a bad day. Tomorrow the girls at school might decide to test her again. Tomorrow she might feel alone even at Wardlow because old habits die hard.

But today...

Today there was an apple scent in the air and the world was full of colors and Jane felt like she belonged.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

\---------------------

[| October Prompts |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/631540660897497088/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling)


	24. October Prompt #4: Spells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from whopooh: "ruffled hair" and "black cat"

Phryne marched up the path, a woman on a mission. Really, if Jack was going to drag his feet getting them a warrant, she was going to be forced to take matters into her own lock-picks and perhaps it would do him good to be reminded of that fact.

And, she thought as she reached the front door, if she _happened_ to finally get a glimpse inside his house at the same time, well, that was just the cherry on top of the investigative sundae.

She knocked once, twice, no answer, which was strange because his motorcar was clearly parked out front.

She was just about to knock again when she heard a small noise behind her. She turned, not sure what to expect, but didn’t see anything. Then she heard it again. Was that... meowing? 

Phryne looked down and sure enough there was the source of the sound — a small, black cat.

“Hello,” she greeted, because manners. “Who do we have here?”

The cat backed up a step, clearly a little skittish, so Phryne took a seat on the top step of the porch and held out a hand in greeting. The cat sniffed at her for a moment before coming close enough for Phryne to gently pet it.

“Aren’t you a sweet girl,” Phryne murmured, continuing to stroke the tiny animal, who nuzzled in closer. The two of them stayed that way for a few minutes and it was calming, for both of them, which was why, Phryne reasoned, she didn’t immediately hear Jack’s approach.

“Dinah!” he exclaimed, half irritation, half worry. “There you are.” Jack huffed, moving closer with perhaps more worry than irritation after all, given that he only seemed to register Phryne’s presence after checking that the cat was alright.

“Oh, Miss Fisher! What are you...”

He didn’t finish his question, though, probably because of the dumbfounded look on his partner’s face. But she couldn’t help it.

He was... flustered, in a way she’d never seen before. Hair disheveled, tie and suit coat gone, sleeves rolled up. And when he went to sit next to her on the step she saw he was missing socks as well, his feet just sitting bare in the shoes as though he’d thrown them on in a hurry.

In a word, he looked delicious.

But, to Phryne’s credit, she recovered quickly.

“Hello, Jack! Who’s your friend?”

“This is Dinah,” he explained, surreptitiously examining the cat, even as she stayed curled into Phryne. “A house cat who decided this evening that she wasn’t.”

“Oh, was there a jailbreak?” Phryne asked with a grin.

“Mmmm,” Jack agreed. “I opened the door to get the evening edition and she scurried past me faster than you can say — well you know.” He shrugged and leaned back against the step. “I’ve been out looking for her for almost half an hour.”

“Well she must have gotten hungry. Like father, like feline, hmmm?”

Jack didn’t look amused at the joke so Phryne took it upon herself to look amused enough for both of them, because partnership. “Though I must say, Jack, I’m quite pleased. A black cat? Very brave of you to flaunt superstition like that.”

“Well they’re only considered unlucky in some places, Miss Fisher. Scottish lore, for example, holds that a black cat's arrival at a new home signifies prosperity.”

“And is that what happened to you?” she asked, as Dinah rubbed her cheek on Phryne’s leg.

“Actually, yes,” he chuckled. “I had only been here a few weeks when she sort of… showed up. Turned my life upside down for a bit, but here we are.”

“And that famous Robinson heart just couldn’t turn her away?” Phryne teased.

“More like that famous Robinson superstition couldn’t be forgotten; my mother would never have forgiven me for passing up such good fortune.”

Phryne rolled her lips to refrain from commenting further; Jack Robinson might talk a good game, but as he’d talked it he’d also scooted closer to the cat and was now scratching her behind the ear.

“Well maybe I should take her off your hands, Jack. It is, after all, believed that a lady who owns a black cat will have many suitors.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Somehow, Miss Fisher, I doubt you are suffering from a scarcity. Though she does appear to have taken quite a shine to you.”

“Mmmm, she has. And well restrained, Jack, not making any jokes about how they’re often seen as witches’ familiars.”

“I would never,” he denied, vehemently but with a sly glint in his eye. “But while we’re on the subject, have you come to put a spell on me?”

“Well if you have to ask, Jack, I’ve clearly not cast it right.”

Jack chuckled again and the sound warmed her in a way she hadn’t expected. She turned to look at him and his expression as he smiled back was so unbearably fond and his hair was ruffled and he was sitting so close and his empty house was _right there_... 

Phryne swayed towards him, wondering if maybe this was the time, finally, to change the tempo of their waltz and take the next step. And then Jack was swaying too and they were so impossibly close...

And then, because this cat was clearly the canine equivalent of Aunt P, Dinah meowed loudly and with purpose, breaking the mood and whatever enchantment it held.

Jack looked startled for a second, before jumping to his feat. “I think perhaps you were right about her being hungry. I better get her some dinner.”

Phryne nodded as Jack hurried over to his door and opened it with a key. “Traitor,” she whispered to the cat who simply gave her an unconcerned look before running into the house.

Phryne stood too then, smoothing down her skirt. “Well it seems you have plans, Inspector, so I suppose I will see you tomorrow. Good luck with the prisoner,” she teased before starting down the walk. She had gotten about halfway when Jack called out to stop her.

“Miss Fisher?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“Did you... you never told me what you needed.”

“Oh, I…,” Phryne stood there, momentarily unable to recall the initial reason for her visit. She shook her head at her foolishness, though, and got a hold of herself quickly, because Phryne Fisher. “Yes, I wanted to remind you to get a wriggle on with the Matthews warrant. Time and tide wait for no man, Inspector, and I am right there with them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Fisher, though I doubt that will sway the judge.”

“His loss,” she trilled as she kept walking to her car, a little more swish in her step than was strictly necessary. She talked a good game too, but still, that was odd. Forgetting why she’d come over? That was not like her at all. Cats, she decided, were very distracting.

That… or maybe she wasn’t the only one who could cast a good spell.

Couldn’t say that she minded.

\---------------------

[| October Prompts |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/631540660897497088/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinah is the name of Alice's pet kitten in _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ , which is why Jack chose the name, because nerd. 😂❤️


	25. October Prompt #5: First Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anonymous: first wine.

First wine, then whisky, then hope, then each other.

It seemed this evening, they would both be indulging.

\---------------------

[| October Prompts |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/631540660897497088/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... don't know what to say. Is this even a fic? Apparently when I try to write something short my brain just angrily throws up its hands and yells "I GUESS" like that meme. 😂


	26. October Prompt #6: Blaze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from Bluecityrose: "pile of leaves" and "campfire"

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Liar,” she muttered, throwing another twig into the fire.

Jack flicked his eyes in her direction at the accusation, but otherwise did not respond.

Oh, so quite mad then. Wonderful.

She should probably leave it for a while. Of course, that had never been her style _before_ …

“In my defense, Jack — ”

Jack didn’t wait to hear her defense, abruptly standing and walking over to the pile of branches they’d assembled when the sun had started to go down, stranding them out here without a map, compass, or likely backup.

He grabbed a few of the smaller branches and brought them back over to burn them with the rest.

After he’d retaken his seat, Phryne tried again.

“I did tell Dot where I was going, you know. She’ll discover I’m not back this evening and manifest a rescue out of sheer worry — I know we’ve only been back in the country a few weeks but I expect it’s like riding a bike for her.” Phryne attempted to lighten the mood with the joke but Jack didn’t reply so she continued on undeterred.

“And Cec and Burt were the ones who directed me here in the first place so they know the terrain. Really, between the three of them, help should be here first thing tomorrow.”

“If only there weren’t a whole evening between then and now,” he commented acerbically. He stood again, clearly agitated. “I’m going to go look for more wood.”

Phryne rolled her eyes, poking at the fire in irritation. “We have plenty of wood,” she reminded him. “And if you want a bigger blaze there’s a pile of leaves right over there.”

He turned his head to stare at her. “Are you insane? You don’t burn leaves in a fire.”

“You do if you want more smoke,” she maintained. “Which I thought was the point. Rescue and all that.”

“Rescue was the point two hours ago when there was still daylight. Now we’re just trying to survive the night, preferably without lung damage from burning leaves.” He started to stalk off but she couldn’t leave it; it really had never been her style.

“You didn’t have to come after me, you know! I didn’t expect you to and I would have been perfectly fine on my own.”

Jack whipped back around and crossed his arms. “Yes, I can see that. The only thing safer than the two of us lost out here, would be you lost out here, alone.”

Phryne threw the last twig she was holding into the fire and stood herself, crossing over to Jack so he was a mere inches away from her.

“Maybe I would be lost out here. But maybe I would have made one of twenty different decisions on my own that I didn’t make because you were here and I would have been fine. We can’t know that. We can’t know anything except we’re temporarily here longer than we’d like to be and you’re being an ass about it.”

“Phryne…”

“You didn’t have to come after me!”

“Yes I did!” he shouted, so forcefully it took them both by surprise. “Yes I did,” he repeated more softly. 

“Why?” she asked, a little more gently herself this time. 

“Because… because the last time I should have gone after you I didn’t!” Jack spun to face the fire and accidently kicked some dirt in as he did; the detritus sparked beautifully before falling into the flame and his shoulders slumped a little as he watched the fire burn. “I didn’t and terrible things happened and I almost lost you. I won’t be that foolish again.”

“Oh Jack,” she whispered, taking his hand in one of hers to pull him back to face her and stroking his cheek with the other. “I absolutely guarantee you’ll be that foolish many many more times.”

Jack blinked at her, unamused, and she smiled up at him.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked.

“It is actually. You and I will have a thousand more chances to be foolish towards each other. Most of the time they’ll be forgotten as fast as they happen. They won’t all end in a memorial service overseas, darling, I promise.”

“Phryne, it’s you,” he reminded her. “You can’t actually promise that.”

She laughed, all the brighter for seeing his lips quirk up as she did.

“Fair enough. But what I do promise is that I will try to keep things uneventful enough that you won’t feel like you have to the next time. If you come after me, Jack Robinson, I want it to be because you want to. Not out of duty or fear.”

“I do want to,” he assured her. “I always want to. But I’ll try to take that to heart all the time.”

“Good. So… are you less cross now?”

Jack nodded in agreement, already this argument on its way to being forgotten as fast as it happened. “Yes,” he told her.

She pulled him close and kissed him briefly before letting go again. “Good, because I think you’re right; we should look for wood.”

“... Phryne.”

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

Phryne shrugged as innocently as she could with both hands occupied.

“Just what I said we should, Jack.”

“I see.”

“Complaints?”

“None.”

“Good. And let’s hope rescue does wait until the morning — there’s a whole evening between then and now and I have plans for you.”

\---------------------

[| October Prompts |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/631540660897497088/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling)


	27. October Prompt #7: Ports

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from Bluecityrose: "stormy days" and "ruffled hair"

Phryne and Jack had always had a lot in common, such as their desire for justice, their sense of humor, and their ever immaculate hair.

The first was a duty and the second was a joy but the third... the third was a defense, part of both detectives’ carefully cultivated armor, a way to help ensure the world saw them as they wanted to be seen — capable and collected no matter the circumstance.

But the sea of life could be rough, and when stormy weather blew in (metaphorically, except for that one April in Queenscliff) it was a gift to have someone with whom they could privately rail against injustice, and laugh about absurdities, and expose their ruffled hair.

In the sea of life, when harsh weather howled, they were each other’s port in the storm.

And now they had that in common too.

\---------------------

[| October Prompts |](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/631540660897497088/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was SO CLOSE to actually making this a true drabble (100 words) but the ~~heart~~ prompt wants what it wants. 😂


	28. Jack Reading in Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very talented acrazyobsession let me add a short little ficlet to one of her lovely drawings, which can be [found here](https://acrazyobsession.tumblr.com/post/639464474520289280/jack-reading-in-bed).
> 
> Did you look? Isn't it marvelous??? ❤️

"You’re going to wind up with book imprints on your back," he warned as he casually flipped another page.

"Worth it," she mumbled into his chest. Jack smiled and Phryne shifted slightly, only then realizing how deeply she had settled into him.

“You’re going to wind up with me imprints,” she teased, snuggling even closer at the thought.

“Worth it,” he replied, without any thought at all.


	29. Click Clack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from Arlome: Jack, City South, knitting.

It began, as most things for Jack did, as a purely practical matter.

He’d learned a skill, it was a useful skill, and there was no need to let it atrophy just because it was more generally practiced by the fairer sex.

He did not, however, feel the need to broadcast it. Which was why the door to his office — both doors as a matter of fact though it hardly mattered against a freight train — was firmly closed.

She breezed in like it wasn’t there at all.

“Jack, I really do think we need to discuss — are you knitting?”

Jack sighed and put down his needles. “I believe the door was closed, Miss Fisher.”

“But not locked, Jack,” she reminded him helpfully.

“That’s because my constables know how to knock.”

Phryne rolled her eyes. “Well then it’s very convenient that criminals never hide behind locked doors and are also known for their impeccable manners.”

“I think you forget which side of the law I’m on, Miss Fisher. Did you want something in particular or is this just a social visit where you insult me?”

“Why can’t it be both?” she inquired with a cheeky smile. 

“Miss Fisher…”

“Yes, yes, fine. Alright, about young Nina — I’m sorry, is that an Abbotsford scarf, Jack?”

Jack sighed again as he gathered up his work and shoved it in a desk drawer. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

Phryne came around to stand beside him and get one last peek before it disappeared from view. “Looks a bit small for you,” she commented as she hopped up on the edge of his desk. 

“If you must know, it’s for my new nephew, Miss Fisher. A sort of belated ‘welcome to the family’ gift.”

“In that case it looks a bit large for a baby.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though I try not to get too close to any so I might be wrong. How large is an average infant these days, Jack? Bigger or smaller than a breadbox?”

Jack decided it was now his turn to roll his eyes and did so with aplomb. “He’s nine, Miss Fisher and adopted. But he’s started attending games this year so I wanted him to be appropriately attired.”

Good lord, why was he telling her all this? He barely knew the woman. But there was something about her that just made him want to... share. He shook his head; the brass were idiots — if they had had any sense at all they’d have made her an interrogator and not an ambulance driver.

“What was it you were saying about Miss Aliyena?” he asked, attempting to change the subject. 

“Oh, yes.” Phryne slid off his desk and into the visitor’s chair, pulling something out of her purse.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief and gave her his full attention.

~~~~~~~

“Can I help you, Miss Fisher?”

Phryne jumped, her comical reaction making it almost worth finding her poking around in his desk.

Almost.

Jack made an elaborate show of checking the door before closing it behind him. “This _is_ still my office, isn’t it?”

Phryne huffed and threw herself into one of the visitor’s chairs, letting him move past her to sit at his desk.

“Yes, Jack. I was just looking for a story about Hilda and the Blue Fairies.” Jack raised an eyebrow and Phryne sighed. “Dot asked,” she explained.

“Ah,” he said. “Well I’ve not come across that bit yet, but if I do I will bring it right by _if_ ,” he hit the word with as much force as could still be considered polite, “going forward you stay out of my desk. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed. “Although…”

“Yes?” 

“I couldn’t help but notice you have a new knitting project in there.”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “I do.”

“Another nephew?” she asked, voice rising.

“No.” Jack didn’t elaborate and she narrowed her eyes but did not outright ask. It wasn’t actually a very interesting story — a new shawl for Elsie because he’d noticed how thin her’s had been the last time he’d seen her — but a man should be allowed his secrets, dammit!

So he didn’t answer and she didn’t ask but she didn’t quite let it go though, either.

“So where did you learn to knit, Jack?” she inquired instead, leaning back in the chair.

“The Army,” he replied; he doubted that part would be a mystery to either of them. “A man who couldn’t darn his own socks was a man asking for frostbite or trench foot.”

“Mmmm,” she agreed with an understanding sigh that caused their growing camaraderie — which had begun so many weeks ago with her quip about 1918 — to build again on itself.

He found he quite liked the camaraderie.

“My… my wife sent me socks, of course, but we never seemed to have enough. So I figured out how to make them myself.”

Phryne’s brow furrowed just a hair. “That project in your desk looked to be a touch more complicated than socks, Jack.”

He shrugged. “I was injured in the spring of 1917. Wound up in a field hospital for weeks. And as you may remember they had us wounded soldiers knitting from our hospital beds for the war effort.”

“Well everyone needed to do their part,” she remarked dryly. “Especially the ones already _in_ the war effort.”

Jack chuckled. 

“Anyway there was this nurse…” Phryne sat up a little, suddenly very interested, but Jack just shook his head and threw her a chastising look. “She was a very skilled knitter and taught me a thing or two to improve my technique.”

“Nothing you just said made your story sound less salacious, Jack, but please continue.”

Jack glared at her for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing more to tell. It was a useful skill so I kept with it, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, standing up and grabbing her hat. “But as I’m already running late, I will let it slide for now.”

“Very gracious of you, Miss Fisher.”

“It is, isn’t it?’ she cheeked, her hand on the doorknob. “And since I’m in such a benevolent mood, I will leave you with something else to ponder.”

“What’s that?”

“You could have told me to stay ‘away’ from your desk instead of ‘out’ of your desk. But you didn’t. I wonder why that is…”

And then she was gone.

And Jack wondered too.

~~~~~~~

The click clack of her heels alerted him to her presence before she actually appeared, but by now Jack figured there was no point in hiding it, so he just let the click clack of his needles merge with her steps until she entered his office and waved a hello.

“You’re here late,” she noted.

“I am. But, of course, I work here,” he pointed out, continuing with his row.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“Socks,” he said and she laughed. “Not everything has to be complicated, you know.”

“No, you're right," she agreed. "All that fashionable intrigue and it was really just a common thief.”

“Not even French ancestry,” he remarked, and was pleased to hear her laugh in response.

She jumped up on his desk and he moved a little to the left to accommodate her. She peered down at his work quietly for a moment, before asking softly, “Why do you do it at the station?”

Jack stopped and looked up at her. “Honestly? I’ve found it’s good for clearing one’s head when you need to have a think.”

“Really?”

“Mmmm. Many a deductive epiphany has been struck in this office between a knit stitch and a purl, Miss Fisher. Sometimes you find exactly what you need while knitting.”

“Maybe I’ll have to take it up,” she mused. He raised an eyebrow and she chuckled. “No, probably not,” she admitted. “But I’m glad it works for you.” She nodded behind her. “You could keep the door open, you know.”

“I prefer to remain a never-ending source of mystery,” he replied dryly.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will. So why are you here, Miss Fisher?”

“Well you missed our nightcap, Jack.”

“That’s all?” he asked, trying to stifle a smile.

“Jaaaaack,” she teased, rummaging around in her purse and pulling out a flask. “Not everything has to be complicated, you know.”

Jack let the smile out and put his knitting away.

~~~~~~~

_Click, clack, click, clack…_

Jack’s needles hit against each other almost violently and for a moment the intensity of his movements surprised even him.

Good.

He’d told her knitting was useful for having a think. What he’d not told her was that it was also a good way _not_ to think, when you wanted to just lose yourself in the rhythm and repetition.

Jack had found that when everything hurt a little too much it could be very useful to just forget yourself in the simple action of making a sock.

He’d knit a whole new wardrobe towards the end of his marriage. 

_Not a helpful comparison_ , he thought and continued with his row. 

Hugh knocked and, without thinking (so this current strategy must be working), Jack called for him to enter.

“Hello, sir, I just — oh. I, uh… sorry are you knitting, sir?”

Jack looked down and realized he was. Damn. Well, no point in denying it now, even Hugh would probably question that.

“Yes,” he said impatiently instead, putting down his needles and making his best “get on with it” face.

“Oh, yes, er… well you asked to be notified when the Gertrude Haynes case was officially closed. It is.”

“Good, good,” Jack murmured. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” Hugh said, still eyeing the needles.

“Something interesting, Constable?” Jack asked crossly.

“No, sir, it’s just… well it’s funny, Dottie said Miss Fisher has suddenly taken up knitting too.”

Jack swallowed. So he wasn’t the only one hurting.

Strangely, knowing that didn’t make him feel any better.

~~~~~~~

He knitted a lot in the following months. It was good for clearing one’s head when you needed to have a think, and there was quite a bit to think about.

The night Concetta had made her offer, he’d knitted like mad. Knitted and drank and drank some more and ended up with an awful mess of wool he’d unraveled the next day.

He’d resolved not to make such a mess of things with Phryne.

When she left for England he gave her a new scarf he’d made himself.

When she returned, she looped it around his neck and kissed him.

But she never gave it back.

And that was that. 

Not everything had to be complicated. 

~~~~~~~

Eventually Jack’s age and wisdom progressed enough that he stopped closing the door, and it became something of a good-natured joke at the station — the old man and his knitting. But you couldn’t argue with his success rate or his outstanding leadership, and whenever a new babe was born to one of the men of City South, there was always a beautiful new blanket waiting for them.

In preferred-footy club colours, of course.

And when World War II broke out — and how the fuck could that have happened he wanted to wail at the heavens — Jack didn’t leave Australia. An injury on the job in ‘37 had left him alright to work in the field, but not ideal for duty in Europe. The higher ups had instead offered him another job in intelligence, at a desk, and he’d accepted because what else could he do.

Phryne had gone to the front.

What else could she do?

He missed her, every day. Worried, every day. Knitted, every day.

He sent her enough socks to fill a wardrobe.

He sent them to Hugh, as well, and all the other men he’d led over the years who were now cold and scared and so very far from home.

He worked and he worried and he knitted and one night, late in the war but he didn’t know it yet, he was in his office at night, alone. He picked up his needles to clear his head before the images he’d just seen could sear their way into his memory.

_Click, clack, click, clack…_

The needles helped him focus on his work and forget about his nightmares. They helped him remember her. 

They helped. 

_Click, clack, click, clack…_

Usually. 

_Click, clack, click, clack…_

But not tonight it seemed. 

He sighed and stopped for a minute, just a minute, to compose himself. It had not been a good day.

_Click, clack, click, clack…_

Jack’s hands — hands that were not currently knitting he was startled to realize — started to shake as the sound continued.

Continued and got louder. 

_Click, clack, click, clack…_

He put the needles down before he dropped them.

_Click, clack, click, cla-_

“You’re here late,” she said, clearly trying not to cry as she reached his desk.

“I am,” he agreed with wet eyes, not putting in that particular effort himself. “But, of course, I work here,” he pointed out hoarsely.

She nodded and burst into exhausted, sad, ecstatic tears. The half-finished socks fell to the floor as he leapt from his desk and gathered her close, thinking — ridiculously — that he’d been right, all those years ago.

Sometimes, if you’re very, very lucky indeed, you find exactly what you need while knitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's nephew borrowed from Arlome's gorgeous story _Revolution of the Times_ , which can be [found here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572933/chapters/70025307). If you haven't read it yet, do yourself a favor and do it now.


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